A Second's Chance
by Joanna L'Aurel
Summary: "It's a Ranger's duty to look after the weak." He said. I scoffed at him. I would not be pitied. He forced a chuckle, gazing up at the wide blue sky. "I would not be one to pity you, Mattie Ross." Based on the book, set directly after end/6 years later.
1. One

_For the upright will live in the land,  
but the wicked will be torn from it. _

_ -Proverbs 2:21_

1878

Indian Territory, US

I was not of right mind when I came to.

My head and eyes ached; everything was distorted around the edges, and I was in a sort of uncommon, giddy mood. I rubbed my eyes but it did not relieve a thing. My feet were exorbitantly cold, and my hair was stuck across my face, dried from some sort of perspiration. I was a case of malaise, drifting in and out of consciousness. At certain moments, I swore there was a traffic of people weaving in and out through the room, but it was probably inaccurate. When I finally awoke, my first thought was on my grand adventure and the final outcome of it.

The gravity of the week's events hit me like a roaring train.

An elderly woman in a pink frock and apron carefully tiptoed into my room. Seeing that I was awake, she offered me a stranger's smile. "Would you like a glass of tea, Miss Ross?"

I shook my head gingerly. "Am I in right mind?" The room seemed to sway. I did not like it.

The plump lady stood beside me and squinted her eyes. "I do believe so, you're lucky as mud." She placed the tray on my table and gazed at me real close. "If it's the sudden uplift in mood, I best judge it is the painkillers or the handsome man awaiting you downstairs.

My lawyer. I heaved a sigh of relief.

"No, Miss. I do believe he is a Texas Ranger."

I sat up in bed abruptly despite of myself. The lady looked at me strangely. I did not pay mind.

"Where is Rooster Cogburn?" I demanded.

"He headed on down to Texarkana, just this morning in the early hours." She explained. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a little tea?"

I assured her I would not.

"He went on down to attend a hearing or something judicial of the decree- left you a whole four dollars."

"And the man downstairs?" I asked quickly. My forehead was beaded with sweat for reasons unknown. I was secretly furious. He had abandoned me?

"Yes dear, the man showed up today. I do believe he is here to take you on home."

Home. Home. I glanced at my stub of an arm. This would not go over well with Mother. I pictured the horror in her eyes. I could see Victoria, Little Frank. They would not understand that all things come with a price.

"You may dismiss him, I will get along fine by myself."

She chuckled softly. "An unwise decision, Miss Ross- "

"Why is that?"

"You are in quite a delicate state."

I looked her squarely in the face. "My arm is gone."

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. It was not my good arm. Things might have been worse. I might have been dead instead, and then arms or legs would make no difference.

"Will you stay another day to recover?" The woman asked. I shook my head.

"Fine then, I will prepare your things."

She helped me place my calico dress over my head and through my arms. She assisted me in braiding my hair- one long braid this time, right down the back. I felt like an infant.

"It suits you." She said quietly. I sniffed.

Downstairs, the ranger LaBoeuf was waiting for me in one of the chairs in the foyer. He did not look well. A lack of sleep and a lack of nourishment can make even the finest men look ghastly. He grinned weakly when he saw me.

"Hidy."

I did not move.

The doctor who had performed the amputation was an Italian named Dr. Vestucci. He left a vial of medicine and a small note with LaBoeuf. It was all very grim and I did not like it. The Innkeeper gave us each a biscuit and charged me half the money Cogburn had left. I paid up front and we were sent on our way.

LaBoeuf hitched me on the dead man's horse and did not speak. I assumed at the very least that he was exhausted and in pain.

"You are quiet today, Mr. LaBoeuf. I do say I prefer it that way." I tested the waters. He did not reply. "Do you know why Cogburn has retreated to Texarkana?"

"I am not sure." LaBoeuf admitted. "Perhaps he has interests there."

We rode along in silence. The day was promising- it had been a frosty morning, but the sun was peeking out behind the clouds and everything would soon melt away.

"It was kind of you to return." I observed.

"It's a Ranger's duty to see to the weak."

"I will not be pitied."

He chuckled. "I would not be one to pity you, Mattie Ross."

We approached a small river, using a wooden barge to cross it. It was nice to not have to direct one's horse through icy ravines. I had taken it for granted. I realized the great amount of balance it took to ride one handedly. The ranger made it look too simple.

"I assume you are to take me back to Fort Smith."

He gazed up at the sky. "Preposterous. I will direct you to Yell County. We should make it there in a day." He faced me. "I am an excellent navigator, after all."

"It is not a difficult art, this region." I shot back. "You will take me to Fort Smith and leave me with the horse- it is best that way."

"I must disagree. You will get yourself in trouble."

I dug my heels into the horse's girth and halted him. LeBoeuf took a moment and stopped to look at me.

"Have I not proved my worth?" I asked. "I have overcome many things, and yet you treat me with such offenses!"

"You are mistaken." He replied, pulling me ahead. "I care for your welfare. You may have been fine two handed, but with such a handicap, it will be difficult to make it back."

I studied him. "What's your design?"

"To see you safe."  
"Safe? What do you know of safe? I've killed a man." Was my reply to that. The Ranger was off-guard. We rode on. An injustice. The only men a woman should trust are preachers and Bible salesmen. And even among those chosen few- there are exceptions.

Again, how easy it would be to refuse him if not for those bright blue eyes. I shook the silly thought from my head, focusing again on the rhythm of the clay-reddish horse that trotted beneath me. I set my good hand on the reigns, grasping the withers and holding myself up. My braid was already coming undone. The lady at the inn had no good instruction on hair braiding- it was to be done tightly- stiff and straight.

I suddenly remembered the reward money for Chaney.

"LaBoeuf."

"Yes, ma'am?"  
"Is the deal still honored?"

I could picture his puzzled face."What's that?"  
"Your deal with Cogburn." I specified. "Are you still planning to pursue the large cash sum bequeathed to his undertaker?"

"Cogburn has taken the body, I have no use of it."

"You are foolish!"

"Haw-haw. You are mistaken."

Bewildered, I begged him elaborate. He explained that the senator, Bibbs' family would "bequeath" him whatever was necessary for his grievances-plus interest. I was short of shocked. It was an admirable, noble thing for him to do. He would, in turn, leave Cogburn the lump of the reward. Quite the chivalrous move. I did not expose such opinions to him.

"I still think you are a fool for escorting me all the way home." I said.

Once in Fort Smith, we purchased a few supplies. We journeyed east. Riding past the Monarch Boardinghouse, and the stables and Lee's general store, I noticed the town had not been the same since I had left. Although the small oxford style buildings stood, gallant, it could not be the same. It must have been the way the light hit everything. Perhaps people are not so innocent once they ride out into the unknown country to avenge their father's death. How things did change.

"Time gets away from us." I said under my breath. LaBoeuf nodded in agreement.

I once heard some folklore that plainly stated that traveling east is unnatural. It shortens time. The sun was moving away from us at a despicable pace, and I cursed it; the moon was rising quick. It possessed the luster of a yellow saucer, low in the winter sky.

"What day is it?" I asked.

LaBoeuf thought for a long moment. "If I'm not mistaken, it is January the twelfth."

"Truly?"  
"Truly."

I bit my lip.

It was my birthday.

I was fifteen years old.


	2. Two

2

We set up camp near Conway, Arkansas. I had to stop because of the pains- "phantom pains' Doctor Vetucci had called them. They were so bad at points that black dots filled my vision and I could feel my missing hand. I hadn't known that was a possible feat.

LaBoeuf registered the vial to me, but it did little to numb the pain. I placed all my efforts into not crying. I would not be pitied. He hastily set up a fire and tied the horses to a nearby tree as night fell. There was not much for me to do, and I was not in a good position to assist him. Minutes turned to hours. The night had no end. Leaning up against a small birch tree, I cradled my hand and jutted my shoulders out with each wave of pain. He sat closely beside me and tried to touch my back- I shuddered with any movement. Each wave of it was like a roll of thunder, each one drawing closer and closer to my soul, shaking my body and rendering me helpless.

LaBoeuf uncovered a bottle of whisky from his jacket pocket and held it out to me with finality. I looked him in the eyes.

"You know how I feel about drink."

"Only a bit. You will pass from the pain."

"Save it." I replied, passing the bottle back. He continued to watch me, in the firelight, eyes wide as I discreetly writhed from the pain. It was not an easy thing to see- perhaps the pain he felt watching me was near the feeling I experienced. I finally reached for the thing in desperation, and had it thankfully. My squirming aches stopped. My fists loosened. Like a very warm wool blanket, the stuff covered me head to toe until I was glazed over and everything had slowed.

Neither one of us could sleep. The Ranger watched the orange flames, pipe in mouth. I had lost my tongue to speak. I hated the slow feeling, it was uncomfortable and left me very vulnerable. But it was a great respite compared to the pain.

I shivered. Winter was wretched! Somewhere in the transition, the space between the night and day, I had downed the entire contents of the bitter bottle. LaBoeuf informed me of my gleeful songs during that time, of my silly remarks and realizations- it had been my birthday. He continued to playfully mock me into the next day. I thought he might have kissed me but do not remember it well enough. It may have been wishful thinking.

"We danced." I said, half-heartedly.

He smiled. "We did dance."

"Pity I don't recall it."

LaBoeuf hoisted me up on the horse and grinned.

"You're a fine dancer." He remarked with a wink.

The smile on my lips didn't fade the rest of the day. I scolded myself for it.

We set out early for the last leg of our journey- 'my' journey. LaBouef would have free reign once I was gone- it made me almost sad, for reasons I did not fully understand. How often during our hunt for Chaney I had wished I was home again- in a warm bed, being a reliable daughter, seeing Mother and tending the farm and looking after Victoria and little Frank. My quest for Chaney had changed things; My sense of adventure had been further awakened, not suppressed. Now I felt shameful of wanting it, of wanting to return to unknown places, scoping out hard criminals and sleeping in the dirt and riding quickly through the hills.

Who did I think I was? I was Mattie Ross, of near Dardenelle, in Yell County. I had grit, but not much – not enough to grow on, at least. It was my place to be in the home. I almost dreaded it.

The horses were parched, and at times I did worry whether or not we would find water. The Ranger assured me all would be fine, and to not think so much. I could not help but think. This was the natural thing to do.

Over and over again the same spiraling thoughts dominated my mind: I had killed Tom Chaney. I had done it. My father's death was avenged- I was almost content with it.

But something was missing.

I used my heels to nudge the horse forward, beside LaBoeuf, who focused on the horizon. I smiled fervently.

"Won't you tell me a story?" I asked. "Something pertaining to your years as an offier?"

"Not much to tell." He replied. "Never got to see much action. A lot of drills and marching, but not much else."

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Yes- twice. In self-defense."

"Of course." I added. "Not counting Lucky Ned Pepper."

"He ain't so lucky anymore."

I watched the landscape unfold around us. I continually felt like it was all familiar. I was beginning to see landmarks that I blithely recognized. We were just approaching Yell county when he tossed me back a smile. It was a contagious sort of thing.

"Near home."

We rode south until a small town came into view. It was not yet Dardenelle, but a town beside it.

"If you will be so kind as to leave me here with the horse, I will not judge you for it." I said quickly.

He shook his head. "I'll see you home."

"You have no advantage in it."

"What is your problem with my escorting you?" LaBoef questioned lightly.

I shrugged. "You look forlorn."  
"I was thinking on you."

The comment sparked my attention and I turned. "What?"

LaBouef was silent for a moment. His eyes twinkled. "I tell you, you've misjudged your situation. Things will not be as easy for you from now on- " I understood what he was getting at. I clenched an imaginary fist, and felt a hot fury rise to my face.

"I told you I wasn't to be pitied." I snapped.

"It is not pity, it is concern."

I swiped a strand of hair from my face with my good hand. "Mother will be upset, I do not doubt it. And it will be painful- I am prepared for months of it. But the Lord will guide me through." I had full confidence in the statement.

We rode on, in silence. It was hard for me to believe that after all this time, all the arrogant statements and jokes and remarks that LaBoeuf gave any real thought to my circumstance. I could still see the mark where Chaney had assaulted him. I shooed it all away, focusing on the trail of dust and gravel along the road we were quietly paving.

We set up camp late into the night at a small dugout by the river. I set a fire going inside as the ranger tethered the horses to a small restraint outside. He placed a cloth over each of them. I could hear and feel the whisper of the icy winter wind- it was beginning to snow. I had the slightest cough. I turned over the stew at the fire with a wooden spoon.

Slowly but most surely, I was relearning how to do everything- simple things like cooking and stoking fires and riding horses- one handed. I was pleased with my progress.

LaBoeuf shut the door tightly behind him. "There's a storm out there."

"I was unaware." I observed wryly. He shot me a look in spite of himself. "How's the pain?"  
He touched the back of his head. "Not bad. How's yours?"  
"Better than yesterday."

I watched him take a seat in the far corner and remove those ornate spurs of his, along with the shoes. I stirred a pathetic pot of leek soup. There was not much else. We were grateful to have it.

After taking my portion of it, I set to work on a small handkerchief. I had picked it up in Conway and I thought by producing it I could assure Mother that I was alright. I was stitching small pink roses around the trim.

"I didn't pick you out as the embroidering sort." LaBoeuf observed. I hummed a small hymn under my breath. "What do you suppose you'll do once you return home?"  
I paused. "I will do what I have always done. Just with one arm."

"I see."

I dug a strand of pink into the white hanky. "Why, would you like to trade with me?"

"With you? What, live in a one-roomed cabin with a- Ma and two babies? Churn butter all day?"

"It's much more agreeable than it sounds." I reminded him. "And I'm sure a one-roomed cabin would go over splendidly with you."

He chuckled to himself for a moment. I pursued the subject further, without thinking.

"Have you ever had a family, Mr. LaBoeuf?"  
A moment passed. LaBoeuf's smile faded. His eyes met mine slowly. A pause.

"No."

I immediately felt sympathy for the man. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." He said, wiping the thought away.

A pause. He elaborated."It's not something to be dwelled on- my mother and father were killed in a Crow Indian ambush out in Dakota Territory. I was nine."

I had never known anything so devastating. I drew lines instantly from his mind to my own.

"No brothers- sisters?"

"Would have been nice. But no. A Ranger's job is his life in all form and entirety. It would be a selfish thing to try to bring a woman into it all."

His words struck a chord somewhere in the middle of me, in an unfamiliar fashion. I listened intently, continuing. "Well, then - Will you continue to work out of El Paso, with the Rangers?"  
"I am unsure at the moment. I have entertained ideas of going north, into the fur trade."

"Truly?"

He nodded. "I do not like this chasing business. I am in need of a respite." I watched him closely as he took the pipe and turned it in his hands, once, twice. "Not for ever and always, but for a year or so."

"Then you will return?" I asked.

He smiled. "We'll see about that."

I struggled a laugh. "Might tame that cowlick of yours. Some peace and quiet."

He was studying me carefully. The flames from the stove cast deep shadows across our faces. I could not tell from where I sat whether he was smiling or not. I assumed the latter.

"Those bandages are torn to bits, please let me change them for you." I offered, setting down the needlework and fumbling in my sugar sack for the gauze. He reached for it instead.

"I've got it, do not bother."

"You don't 'got' anything, and besides, you can't properly see where to apply it." I took a step towards him. The bandages were worn and bloody. He swerved from my grip.

"Please sit, I won't have it." He said, trying hard not to crack a grin. I wanted to be angry, but I could feel the mood breaking from the sides. Why did he make all things so absurd?

"You are being incorrigible." I said flatly. He wrested the bandages from my grip and held them above me. I leaped- higher, higher, in hopes of reaching them.

"You're too short, half-pint." He remarked. I reached with my bad arm but to no avail. I imagined myself briefly wrestling him to the ground- I did not doubt my abilities. However, such things were not ladylike, so I abstained. I sat back down to my needlework, quiet and still.

It took him a good two feet of gauze to realize he could not do it on his own. No nonsense. I stood behind him instead and did it for him. He did not speak, out of pride perhaps. I had been right all along. Men will seldom admit those things.

I wrapped the gauze- once, twice, three times around his head of auburn hair. Then I set it with a pin.

"Adequate?" I asked.

"It is fine."

I gently set my hand on the spot hardest hit. A strong emotion stirred in me somewhere below the surface. It was a strange feeling indeed.

"Is everything alright?" He asked. I caught my breath.

"Thank you, LaBoeuf."

In a daze, I took my seat at the bench by the fire. I could no longer focus on my needlework, so I set the sharp in the cloth and tucked it away. He stared at the floorboards of the cabin for some time, as if there was something important etched into them. Our eyes met and I peered away.

"Big day tomorrow." He remarked.

I nodded. "I will take sleep. Goodnight."

"G'night."

I pulled up my knees to nestle against my chest. It wasn't the most comfortable sleeping stance. He watched the fire again. I shut my eyes tight, but listened carefully.

"Mattie Ross?"

A pause.

"Yes?"

He shifted his weight in the chair. "Why did you thank me?"

"For saving my life."

"I didn't save your life."  
I wrinkled my nose. "I don't agree with you, Officer."

"No, you've done that yourself, I'm afraid."

"I killed Tom Chaney. But he would have killed me without your help. The same with Cogburn. If you hadn't been there to do Pepper in, we would all be finished."

He didn't reply. I supposed he was wide awake and thinking, perhaps turning the thoughts over in his head.

We both embraced the Lord's sweet gift of sleep.


	3. Three

3

We approached Dardenelle quickly the next morning. Mother and Daggett were to await me at the station, but I was afraid. How much easier it would have been to take the train instead! My mind wandered to the wretched schedule- the train, like Cogburn, had inconveniently fled to nether regions of the state. My stomach turned faster than coach wheels. I braced myself for wrath, or sorrow, or anything else coming my way.

I still wondered if I could turn back.

A wide prairie stretched out under a big open sky. How dreadful, the path of a prodigal daughter back to her mother's stead. Mama was indecisive, unstable. I feared her response to my so called "actions". I feared she would stir, or swoon, or faint, like the time at my Great Aunt Bessie's funeral, and that we would have to revive her with the smelling salts. I almost asked LaBoeuf if he had a jar of it on hand. The small law station drew closer and closer, and a panic rose up in me, first to my feet, then rising to my face until I was completely spooked.

LaBoeuf caught my gaze. He could sense the fear that I felt. He offered no response.

Mother wept when she saw me. Daggett hung his head. I dismounted the horse as best I could and clung to LaBoeuf, who gathered me about the waist. I felt my legs buckle from under me, but he carried me along. Victoria watched me carefully, eyes intent and thoughtful, fearful of me- like her sister had suddenly emerged from the briar country made of porcelain.

I felt like this was the case.

Little Frank smiled down at the mud and held Mother's hand, still quite unaware. Daggett took my sugar sack and helped us home. My mother could not look at me.

"Thank you, Ranger, your job is through." Daggett said swiftly to LaBoeuf, handing him a few coins. LaBoeuf watched me closely, to make sure I was still breathing. I was. It was a miracle to us both.

The mourning party hoisted themselves into the jet black coach pulled by two cream colored horses, but I stayed behind. I was not yet ready to depart the Officer's presence. He offered me a smile, different this time, sweet and soft, like a prayer.

"Take care of yourself." He said.

I held back tears and took his hand. Now smiles graced us both.

"Mattie, come along." Daggett instructed me. I let go, most reluctantly.

I watched him ride off, as I myself departed. I was unaware of what my emotions to him pertained to, or if it was the medicine, or something much more permanent and compelling. I feared I would not see him again, and spent a great many nights awake, pained over my missing arm, eyes darting around in the darkness, seeking him out again. I was continually distracted with repeating our conversations over in my mind- the time that stood out most particular was the night Cogburn had sworn me off in the middle of the Indian nation. He had pronounced the trail cold. As I watched the day unfold to night outside the coach, I thought on it.

"Trail's cold, there's no use." He had pronounced drunkenly. The comment stirred my frame. It was raining, bitter outside. LaBoeuf had been injured, and I attempted to defend him.

"It's not his fault." I said, handing him a piece of cornbread. "You have not eaten all day."  
"All you've done is got shot and followed us 'round." Cogburn said. We exchanged glances.

"You're wrong, Marshall." I had shot back. I regretted it at the present moment. "He shot close range at Ned Pepper's gang while we hid like cowards in the hills."

"Hogwash. I've let myself be swayed by a harpy in trousers and a nincompoop."

LaBoeuf leaned forward in defense, but winced.

I cut in. "Gentlemen, it is not right to argue in this fashion. It is late of night."

"Why, Mr. LaBoeuf, I see you've earned yourself an admirer. I bow out. This was a damn mistake. You can take the girl, I'll have no more of it."

The ranger stood and faced the marshal. I had watched him, I had worried for his health.

"I will not be harassed by a drunkard's rantings. It is beneath me. I will make my camp elsewhere."

The injured ranger had stood and walked back to the horse. He had appeared to be packing up his things, in preparations to leave. I followed him quickly, from under the tent and into the rain.

"Please, Mr. LaBoeuf." I pleaded. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

LaBoeuf fastened the horse and looked at me from behind the old wire fence.

"This was my fault."

"Then let me come with you." I pleaded. A threat of finality was nearly tangible in the air above us.

"That is not possible."

I took a step towards him and kept him from his process. We were too close.

"Have I held you back? I am perfectly capable of carrying my own, I have Papa's gun and I will be no trouble to you."

He watched me intently. "That is not my worry. You have earned your spurs- but Cogburn is right. The trail is cold. And I- am considerably impovised."

I shook my head. "He is still near. I will not rest until Chaney is brought to justice."

"I have misjudged you." He mounted the horse and I looked up at him. Rain fell in small puddles all around us. I had forgot about all things.

"I have misjudged you." I repeated. "I picked the wrong man."

The man looked as if he were about to speak, but instead shook the thought away and extended his hand. I denied it.

"Mr. LaBoeuf, please!"  
A pause. He had it in his mind he was leaving. I had taken his hand, thought on it, and let him go. Eventually, he would come again to my rescue, but only to be struck out cold by Chaney. The scene replayed over in my mind like a playhouse, every day, until the days switched to weeks and the weeks switched to months. I knew, inevitably, instinctively that the months would turn to years but I was not yet prepared to face the fact.

He was gone.

1884- Dardenelle, AR

When Victoria announced her engagement to Mitchell Sharpton, I was all but pleased. "The man is moral-less." I said to her plainly as she sat at the vanity and styled her sallow blonde hair. She refused to listen, shutting her eyes against my countenance.

"Hush, sissy. You did say you approved of him, only a month or two ago."

"You take me out of context."

"Ha!" She snapped. "You know yourself that he is in the right."

"That does not defer from the fact that he is of low birth."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "He is just fine for me. I am no queen, I must accept what is best for me."

I did not appreciate her tone. "Victoria, he is a miller's son."

"No difference to me, a man is a man."

A hopeless cause. I asked myself why it mattered. I supposed I did not want the Ross name to be placed beside the Sharptons. Somewhere in the family tree, they shared branches with the terrible Wharton brothers. They were the criminals of a family Marshall Cogburn had set down upon more than half a decade ago.

"An occupation is often a very adequate indicator." I retaliated quickly.

LaBoeuf's face suddenly shined in my head. I had no earthly idea why.

Victoria was further agitated, and showed it in posture and prose. "At least I don't go around acting like an old crab widow, doting around and ruining all the fun for miles."

I put my hands on my hips. It was a saucy line, and taken too far.

It was the spring of 1884; Victoria was sixteen. She was a young bride, no doubt, and it was almost scandalous that she was to marry before her elder sister; However, one glance at me and it was deemed "at least halfway permissible." I thanked my stars that there were not so many gossiping ladies around Dardenelle. I was even more thankful that men like Mitchell Sharpton didn't have the audacity to come knocking on my door.

"It will be a good modest wedding." She had assured me and Mother. "But we will dance."

My mother resisted, saying there would be dancing over her dead body. Victoria argued that dancing was very "in vogue" in the rougish cities of Atlanta and New Orleans. Mother refused. The match lasted only a few days. I had no interest in such matters- in planning, or hosting, or cooking. Such a messy misphap, marriage.

I had not heard from LaBoeuf. On my twenty-first birthday, I had sent him a letter from the PO Box to the Ranger Headquarters in El Paso, of greater Texas. A kind older gentleman had been courteous and had written back in response to me, although his name escapes all memory. He had informed me that Mr. LaBoeuf had retreated to a small plot of land in Manitowoc, Canada, and would not be back for some time, although he gave word that he was not done with the "chasing business". He was thirty-two, and rode the same shaggy Appalachian horse. The older gentleman expressed remorse for the ranger's sudden change of plans. I assured him they were far from "sudden", as I had heard the plans many years prior to his discourse.

I thought on him incessantly.

Now, mother was sitting down, a cool rag strung over her brow. She was a sight to see- it had taken her months from my arrival upon Dardenelle to look me straightly in the face without bursting into tears. Gradually, she had learned to accept it, still bestowing piteous glances on me when I was troubled with the basic tasks.

At night, by the hearth, I told her of all my great adventures, of my bravery and heroics. I informed my little family of Rooster Cogburn, the meanest marshal on this side of the Mississippi, and of Lucky Ned Pepper, who, according to LaBoeuf, was "not so lucky anymore". Little Frank loved to hear about the ambush, or when I was face down in the dirt with Chaney closing in and how that Texas Ranger had saved my young soul. He was most intrigued by the lucky shot- that did Pepper in. My Mother would sit and look horrified in the early years, yet grew weary and somewhat pestered by the stories as the years rolled by. Victoria did not believe in 'cowpoke tales'.

I wished that LaBoeuf had been present so he could validate my claims. I doubted any of them put any true value to what I was saying- Mother was busy enough with a young boy and a frivolous engaged daughter to listen to a mouthy one.

A week after Victoria's engagement, I became tired with our homestead and decided to make a trip to town. I found Papa's old hat in a wooden chest and set it atop my head. It fit me perfectly this time, no newspaper inserts necessary. I admired my big-headedness.

Mother found me.

"Where do you think you are going?" She questioned. I peered at her beneath the low-rised hat.

"Into town."

"Oh?"

I nodded. "I- have some business to attend to."

"Truly, Mattie? The last time you said that, you killed a man and lost your arm." The memories remained engraved on her mind until eternity. I turned to her and grinned.

"I have learned my lesson, Mother."

She studied me a moment, head to toe. A whole moment passed before she spoke. "Alright. What business do you have?"

I planned on dropping in on the local printing shop and picking up a copy of the gazette. I craved good news.

I replied,"I am on my way to the boardinghouse about town."

Mother scrunched up her face in a look of bewilderment. I wished her not to do it. It progressed her wrinkles.

"May I ask why?" She asked.

"They have a job request. For a cook and maid. I will go and see if they will have me."

There is a certain beauty in the relationship between mothers and daughters. When a daughter has exhausted herself in the search of her unique identity, she does not need to explain it to the one who bore her. That woman, her mother, already knows all things, as though they were implanted into her very nature. I assumed it was because we were kin, flesh and blood, true and true. But she did not know my thoughts, thankfully.

"Get on your way. I will see you at supper."

I thanked her kindly and stepped outside. A white pony, Carmen, rested tethered to the side of our little log cabin. I smiled when I saw her. Little Frank watched me from the small winding creek as I loosed her.

"Ready for an adventure?" I questioned. She nudged me. I took it as affirmative.

We set off as quickly as I had wished it.


	4. Four

4

Dardanelle was a beautiful town, and still is. That particular afternoon, I hitched Carmen up to the Welford Boarding House and took a walking to Daggett's office, across the way. Above the door in big letters, it boasted:

_ Oliver Daggett_

_Attorney-At-Law_

_Dardanelle, AR_

I slipped quickly inside and was greeted with a smile at the door. The man had aged considerably but some people still retain their character and composure, even into their advancing years. Such was the case with my dear lawyer.

"Why, it's little Miss Ross." He said, smiling behind a pair of green spectacles. I bid him hello and took a seat across him. Daggett explained to me that he was to meet with a client soon, in a case about a piece of land that had been stolen.

"How can someone steal land?" I asked.

He winked. "I don't know, but the fellow assures me it has gone missing." He fumbled through a file of papers at his desk. I watched.

"Sounds like he knows how to pull a cork." I observed.

He laughed for a great long time.

The old attorney set another file beside the first, seeming to count a long list of things on a tin-type paper.

"What miniscule digits." I said. He nodded. I side-stepped carefully around my words. "You need an assistant, Mr. Daggett. Someone younger, less experienced, who can help attend to things. Someone who can double check, who is very gifted in the field of deal-making." He nodded automatically. Our eyes met and I offered the man a smile.

"You break my heart, little daughter. What a shame."

I understood immediately. A woman working in a lawyer's office was quite unheard of. Mother would be beside herself.

"I cannot stay in that house forever." I said quietly.

He thought for a moment. "You could marry."

"Never."

A laugh resounded through the office.

"Still hard as nails, little Mattie Ross is. Just her wait- just her wait till some man come along and take her up and away- then she will see about marriage."

I scrunched up my nose. "You sound like the women gossiping about the porch. But I have other matters to attend to."

"Fine, fine." He shooed me out playfully, as if I were still that homely little girl.

"I am off to find work, and a copy of the gazette if it will come my way." I replied.

He wagged a finger at me. "Stay out of trouble now."  
"Scold me, do you? Still?"

"No, I do not- but I advise you. Your headstrong ways may catch up with you."

I gave him a nod and shut the door, out in the open street again. A copy of the gazette and a mug of hot coffee awaited me at the boarding house. I took a sip of it and grimaced. I had never learned to like it. The thing was bitter and dreadful.

"Seeking work?" A woman my mother's age and Irish, sough me at the door. I nodded, and was let in. A man my father's age sat beside her in the dining room, armed with a pen and small pad of paper.

"Got a name, deary?" The woman asked.

"Mattie." I said immediately. "Mattie Ross, of near Dardanelle."

"And do you have any previous housekeeping experience, Mattie Ross of near Dardanelle?"

"A bit." I replied honestly. "But I am well of mind and will learn quick."

The man wrote something down. I peered to look at it, and he held it away. The woman played with the hem of her cuff. Behind her, a tall candle shrunk inch by inch under a blazing flame. I watched it intently.

"And cooking? Do you cook?"

I smiled proudly. "Yes, ma'am. My specialty is cornbread, or Brownie Alaska."

"Brownie what?"

"Brownie Alaska. It is a dessert, and quite delicious."

The man cut in. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Ross." I offered. "Mattie Ross."  
"Mattie- Ross?" He questioned. I nodded, slowly this time. I wondered if he was dim of mind. His face suddenly changed into a horrendous sight. His mouth tightened into a frown, and his eyes were suddenly fearful. The woman and I were unaware as to the thoughts that were a-forming and troubling him so. I finally got the nerve to ask him.

"Is something wrong?"

I stood on the front porch of the boarding house in a moment, thrown out politely on my rump. I was very much puzzled. The older man had uttered a hazed 'no'- and had repeated it, over and over, waving his arms. It was if the devil himself had been standing behind me, egging him on. He showed a great twisted fear. I hung my shoulders low. Such an episode confirmed that I would not be cooking or cleaning for the Welford house any time soon.

As I untied Carmen, a man approached me from the street. Night fell quickly upon the town as he drew near.

"You stayin' here?"

"No." I said plainly. I glared him up and down. He did not take the hint, the shabby man. Some men are masters and others servants, and some are out of help. It is the natural way of things.

"What's yer name?"

I studied him. "May I ask why?"  
"No you may not. Yer name? Yer name." He repeated. I looked up and down the street, for any sign of life. A few poor souls strolled under the oil-lit lamps. I was only slightly afraid.

"Mattie Ross." I said finally.

His eyes widened and he lit a cigarette quickly. "Where you live?"

"It is none of your business where I reside." I snapped. He smelt horrendously of hard liquor. "Perhaps I should direct you to the saloon, as it appears you have spent a great deal of time there."

He nodded to himself, as if he was sharing a private joke. A laugh- a small, terrifying croak of a laugh shook his frame and he walked swiftly into the boarding house, as if to retrieve something. All the while, he did not take his wild eyes from me. I quickly mounted my horse and rode off, heart bounding fast in my chest.

Only years later did I understand what took place that night and the nights that quickly followed. Another man, whom I grew to love very much along my travels, revealed the outplay of things to me once all was still and settled. It had gone something like this-

The man was a drifter, who knew his roots well. An original paradox. His name was William, and he was from Austin, Texas. His father, a man Cumberland, had shot a senator by the name of Bibbs and had fled to Arkansas as a fugitive. He took many aliases and was a thief and murderer. He was quick to drink and partial to gambling and cards and all other passions that men pursue. Word had returned to the family that Cumberland had been brought to justice for his heinous crimes, and not just by the law, but by a merciless fourteen year old girl. William had been in the northern regions of the Dakota Territory at the time, in the fur trade. He did not hear about the incident for some time, although many efforts were made by the family to reach him. He finally heard word of it at a hunting rendezvous in Calgary, six years after the event. He was a poor trapper, and only had a dollar or so in his pocket.

"Yer Daddy's been hanged." A man had told him over a game of cards.

"Hanged? I heard he was killed in the middle of the Choctaw nation by a marshal and a horde of Indians." Another said in reply.

One man set his cards in the stack and informed William Cumberland that this was only partially true. He said he had practiced medicine in the nation, and had gotten word from Fort Smith that a young girl by the name of Mattie Ross had one-handedly shot and killed his father. William , impassioned by fury, rode all the way in the night to Fort Smith, and was directed from there to Dardanelle. Fearful of his claims, our neighbors would not disclose with the drunkard where the Ross' stead was- and I was thankful of that, many years later, when all was revealed to me.

At the said time, I was oblivious, and rode on home, unaware that William Cumberland searched the rest of the week, high and low for our little cabin and speck of land.

Victoria's wedding was the talk of the town. It was to be held at the Dardanelle Presbyterian Chapel, on April the Seventeenth. The day approached quickly and I took her and Mama there by coach, Little Frank at the reigns. We reached the church at nine o-clock- early, in time for Victoria and her close friends to apply powder and style their hair high and button up the pretty bridal dress Mrs. O'Reilley had spent a whole month-and-a-half on. Family friends and relatives of the groom were busy at work preparing a feast- weddings in Dardanelle were not just family affairs. They were town affairs.

I stood in the back of the church right before the procession began. I was counting heads. Over ninety-two people! It was warm in that chapel, no doubt, and I cooled myself with a lace fan, feeling very feminine in my black dress and bun. I gave thought to wearing lace gloves- but these were silly matters, and I would not be caught up in them.

After what seemed like a whole century, the entire town stood to admire Victoria. She stepped carefully down the aisles, swooning as she reached the altar. Mitchell took her hands. I couldn't look, but somehow brought myself to bear it. She was my sister. Now she was someone's wife. My heart sunk low in my chest. Mother sobbed, along with a pew full of loose-eyed older women. Everyone threw rice after the thing was over, hurrying across the street to a covered tent, where the dancing and drinking would resume. I still believe that the reception was the highlight to most.

Mother refused to dance. I took a seat by a table and held her hand- noticing that the strange man I had encountered in the street was watching me from a distance. I was fearful, if not perturbed. My mother did not notice.

"My Victoria is happy, and sought, and married. But I still have you."

I smiled. "I will not leave you, Mother."

She squeezed my hand. "Good."

The stranger stood, walking carefully in my direction. I immediately sensed danger- it was like a hot poke at my side. I stood up quickly and moved outside into the night. I could hear the harmony of fiddles and folks clapping as I watched the stars. I almost missed all the action- apparently, Victoria's friend Melanie had been engaged then and there to a Mr. Josiah Davila. More weddings. More foolishness.

As I stood, a great galloping commenced, somewhere down the road- I watched a dark figure on a horse ride up behind the tent and disembark. It was a strange sight. Thinking I was safe, I peeked inside the tent from the edges- the stranger was coming towards me! Thinking quick, I ran around the tent to the far side, allowing myself to be lost in the crowd. I was swept up with the joyful dancers, meeting my white-laced sister in the middle with her groom.

"Look, Mitchell- even old Mattie is dancing!" She said. I wished them both well and ducked from the stranger's sight. I did not have enough patience for such things.

It was either a minute, or perhaps a second, before a shot was fired and the music stopped abruptly. The dancers cleared the floor. The fiddlers stopped their fingers. Someone screamed. The cloaked figure ran towards me, and, upon grasping me about the waist, held me back. The stranger pointed a pistol at the figure.

"Let're go, she's all mine!" He barked. The figure said nothing. I attempted to writhe myself from his grip, but he pinned my good arm behind me and pulled me along. The scraggly stranger fired at my captor, who swung us behind the tent, hoisted me onto the horse, and rode off. I was nothing short of bewildered.

The horse clamored. I heaved my fists upon the rider.

"Let go, I say- Let go!" I pressed my countenance to him, trying to jump of the horse.

He was too strong, holding me between the Appalachian's withers and his cloak. I could not see his face. Instead I watched, helplessly, as the party lights of the grand wedding faded and we rode into the night.

I was very much alone with this stranger, riding to a place I did not understand, into a fate I knew not of.


	5. Five

5

I must have fallen asleep.

There was a sudden, soothing stillness- no sounds of hooves clamoring across the prairie- no more motion that confused my senses and left me dizzy. No more confusion, at least for a second or so as I stepped across the boundaries of unconsciousness into sobriety that comes with being awake. Finally.

I opened my eyes. Sunlight streaked in from a crack in the wallboards. All around me was warmth and stillness.

I almost wanted to forget about the previous events that had plagued me. I wanted it to be all a nightmare, although such was not logical. It did not explain why I had awoken in an old abandoned shack.

I closed my eyes tightly, wanting to drift away again- into the blessed peace of sleep. My sense urged me against it. I sat up. I cursed it.

I was situated in what appeared to be a small cabin, about ten foot by ten. I was very much alone. My dark hair was plastered across my face. I was exhausted, and my head ached. It was not a pleasant feeling.

I peered around, and upon finding myself in the clear, proceeded to step outside into the blinding daylight. I still had my riding boots on when I pushed open the old door and into the wild.

Indian nation. I recognized it immediately- the junipers, the winding creeks and small foamy grasses that grew knee high. The Appalachian horse that had carried me so far stood near the small leaning cabin. It neighed softly at my sight and picked up its hooves, snorting.

Where was the hooded man? I walked the perimeter of the shack. Not a soul in view. I stepped over to the saddled creature and began filing through the bags at its girth. Indian coins, some gold pieces, Texan and Mexican paper bills- fur pelts?

My mind wandered. I thought of Dardanelle. Had the stranger harmed anyone after my quick disappearance? Had he brought ruin to Victoria's wedding? I thought of Mother, of Daggett and Little Frank. I shuddered. Without any question, I felt immediately responsible. Worry hung hard on my heart. A knot in the back of my throat throbbed with each passing moment. How wretched to worry of something we have no power or saying in.

If only I had gone peacefully with the stranger that night outside the Inn! If only fear hadn't pulled me back- I could have shot him, no one would have blamed me. Half the town would have not been surprised.

Looking through my captor's bag, I pulled out a small note, addressed to a man by the name of Cumberland. At the time, I was quite unaware of the nature of the letter. It read:

_W. Cumberland- _

_If you so dare set a hand to the young woman who accompanied Cogburn to your father's trial, I will set down upon you with a wrath you have never imagined, nor anticipated. _

_-L,TR_

The entire day, I watched the sun create a perfect arc across the sky. Time passed. I waited. I rebraided my hair. It was a daunting task. I waited. I brought the horse water and watched a flock of deer rest under the shade of an oak, pecking at grass bits. Again, I waited.

What sense! I felt foolish once the thought occurred to me- how easily I could take hold of the reigned horse and return home to see my family safe.

But which way was home? I glanced around. East? Or southeast, if I was near Kansas Territory. Or perhaps Northeast, if the figure had brought me to the Ponteau region. I forgot.

The Appalachian watched me with careful brown eyes as I approached it. Horses are some of God's most fearful creatures. I was one-armed, but such thoughts often abandon one when the urgency of the moment demands it. In one swoop, I flung myself over its back and scrambled for the reigns.

No avail. The poor thing threw me off its back, spooked straight.

I sat beside it and dug my heels into the dirt. I waited.

Night came over the prairie- I retreated into the cabin, fearful of the creatures that made their appearance outside. Instead, I locked myself up tight and made a small stove and watched the embers fall. I felt much the coward. An entire day, wasted!

As the fire died down, I reminisced about my courageous childhood- turning the memories over in my head- I was Mattie Ross, of near Dardanelle, Arkansas- with a sharp wit and clever countenance. I assured my years in captivity had dulled me somewhat from the rough world of crime and lawlessness and nature. I had hoped with all efforts that such harshness of the wild world would sharpen me- at least enough to restore my grit and bring me home.

I didn't sleep a wink. Instead, I listened to the moans of the wind that rattled the little house from all sides. I began to lose hope that the strange rider would retrieve me- I entertained thoughts that he had abandoned me, perhaps compelled by some strong moral conflict.

Hogwash.

But what of the free horse? And the gold pieces? Perhaps he had been killed.

He returned to me in the morning as a quick knock on the door. I was dressing. I threw the black formal wear over my shoulders and froze in place, stopping a shriek on my lips.

"Wh-Who is it?" I stammered.

"Have you had a good day of recovery, Miss Ross?"

Miss Ross? Did this stranger know me? I searched my memory.

"I assure you, sir- I do not understand what you are talking about." I walked closely to the door, to see it bolted shut with a nearby chair. I relaxed. The man outside seemed to sense it, for he leaned up against the door to test my contraption.

"It'll get awfully warm in there if you lock yourself in." He advised. "Especially in that black dress."

I bit my lip. "Who are you?"  
"It was a wool dress, if I remember correctly. A wool dress to a wedding, Mattie? That's more suited to a funeral, unless times have changed-"

"Who are you?" I repeated, much more forcibly. I was not one to be reckoned with. It did not matter if I hadn't shot a gun in six years- I still had it in me, somewhere.

"Open the door and I will show you." He said calmly. I almost believed him. The voice was soothing, soft- familiar. I stiffened and locked it out.

"I don't believe you."  
"Fine."

I heard the chinkling of spurs. Silence. A few moments passed before the stranger outside spoke again.

"Do you believe me now?"

"No. Why have you taken me?"  
"It was necessary. For your safety."  
"Yes, but why?" I asked fervently. The cabin was growing hotter by the minute. I forgot it was mid-April.  
"Open up and we can discuss it, Miss Ross."  
I shook my head. "No."

"If it gets any warmer in there, you will have to take off your dress." He informed me.

I scrunched my face. He was right. Perspiration formed at my brow. I thought for a long minute.

"I will come out- only if you will give your word that you will not harm me." I said, finally.

A pause.

"Of course." The man said. "Now let's be on our way, alright?"

I took a deep breath and opened the door, peeking out into the sunny day. The stranger who had carried me across the night plains and had wrested me to safety stared at me with bright blue eyes.

LaBoeuf.

"Hidy." He said, a pleasant look on his face. I could not remove the bewildered look from my own.

"Mr. LaBoeuf-" I began.

"There's not much time to be had. I did not want to panic you, but we must leave." He hoisted himself on the Appalachian and held out his hand. "And quickly, if you will have it."

"Where have you been?" I questioned. He gazed across the landscape.

"All will be explained, in due time."  
"Due time, my foot!" I said, somewhat harshly.

We stood there a moment, staring at each other. I had every right to be upset with him, but I detected the urgency as well. Some things just do not change. I searched his eyes, detaching myself from a gut feeling- one that bid me to jump on the horse, trust him immediately, refrain from the thorough questioning.

"Why should I trust you? You- plucked me straight from my own sister's wedding!"

He made a face. "That was your sister's wedding?"  
"Yes."

He offered his hand again. I reached for it halfway, then hesitated.

"If that was your sister's wedding, why weren't you dancing?" He asked after a moment.

I replied that I did not bother with such foolishness. Exasperated, I bounded a leap of faith- I took his hand and hoisted myself behind him. We were immediately off.

He smelt like Papa- an unintelligible mix of warm wood, hide, earth- the faintest hint of some sort of cologne. I would never be able to pin it accordingly.

"Quite a shame." He replied. "I recall your being an excellent dancer."

Despite everything, it made me smile, although I tried with all my might to fight it. It was the only thing I had to cling to. He was the only thing I had to cling to, literally speaking.

We rode off, approaching a set of mountains- the Winding Stair range. I listened to my gut. I did not ask questions. Mother always told me there was a time and place for all things, and for once, I agreed with her. I held fast to LaBoeuf and we made like thieves, seizing the day, every last drop of it. I do not remember how fast we were riding.

Each moment, I wondered why he had taken me out of the pit of danger and set me on another path- why I was with him, finally, trailing the mountains- following a story I didn't know, living off the taste of pursuit, revenge, justice. Safety.

I was surprised to learn that he had not changed, in form or figure. Six years does not change a man like that. He donned the same Rodeo-clown garb of fringe, but I had, undoubtedly missed it. I welcomed it.

We continued to ride off as the day clamored on. I had much to ask him, and I knew he had much to tell me.


	6. Six

6

I had once heard, from our relatives in Chicago, that folks living in Arkansas were partially crazy. They claimed we lived on "the edges of civilization" so to speak- in their opinion, we were too close to the Indian territories, ex-confederates, bank robbing gangs and nationalistic Texans. Dardanelle, they described, was asking for a kinematic catastrophe, with all due respect, of course.

If there was any town that possessed said characteristics, it was not Dardanelle, but instead the town of Clayton, a small settlement in the Indian territory, just west of the Winding Stair Mountains. The place was desolate. People of the town scurried like mice from place to place. An old treaty that kept the wild tribes off the dedicated land was as dilapidated as the abandoned saloons that hung on the west side. LaBeouf explained this all to me, as we galloped a few miles out, past the settlement to the homestead of Alabaster and Marissa Halliburton.

I assumed they were like kin. The Halliburtons, LaBoeuf explained, owned a large estate of land, and a farm and house, smack-dab in the middle of the Choctaw nation. According to the Ranger, Alabaster was half Choctaw, and knew anything you asked him about. At the present time, my concerns were more focused on LaBoeuf's information than that of a cowhand who had struck rich in the gold rush.

"They will get you cleared up and well-fed. I have some business in Clayton that I will see to, and then I will return." He said, assisting me off the horse and onto the great lawn. A large wooden cabin lay only a few yards from where we stood.

"You are abandoning me again?" I asked.

A look of sobriety broke out about his face, but he held it back in just the right amounts so that I misread it as impatience. "I promised you I would explain everything in due time. We are safe now."

I paused. Safe from what?

The older man, Alabaster, greeted me at the door. My eyes watched LaBoeuf until he was out of sight over the hills. He would pay for this.

"My friend told me to expect you." He offered me a warm smile and I tried to reciprocate. "I'm Alabaster Halliburton, king of this small square of land." It was an understatement if I ever did hear one. An older woman emerged from the foyer door, wiped her hands on her apron, and took my own.

"You must be the girl, LaBoeuf's girl." She said, joy sparkling in her eyes. I wanted to inform her that I was not, nor would ever be anyone's "girl". I did not press my case. I knew she did not mean harm when she said it, so I let it go.

"My goodness, that child look exhausted." Alabaster nodded subtly to his wife, then disappeared behind the front door. My first impression was generally accurate- he was a hardworking man with a kind face and big hands. He wore calico breeches and spoke like the common folk. I decided I liked him well enough.

Marissa directed me to the back of the large house, where she had already drawn a tub of warm water for bath. I assured her it was not necessary- that I was used to living off the land, and that I would not take advantage of a stranger's kindness.

"LaBoeuf is a friend of my husband, and like a son to me. When he wrote to us that he planned on making a stop in Clayton, I was more than willing to assist him in anything he needed." She handed me a bar of brown lye soap and a towel. Her eyes strayed away from my stubbed arm. It gave me an automatic respect for her.

"Thank you." I said sincerely. Her face wrinkled up in a smile and she pushed a curly lock of silver brown hair behind her ear.

"Let me fetch you a dress upstairs- something more breathable than wool, would you mind?"

I thanked her again, and she shut the door. In moments, I sunk into the foamy brine bath, cleaning my face and hair and hands. I had never been so grateful for clean hands. My feet were filthy as well- soiled from hard riding and muddy plains. A half-hour passed and the woman returned with a blue cotton dress and a pair of simple shoes. I was speechless. Such kindness of strangers is a difficult thing to learn. I took both with thanks, and slipped them on. I vainly acknowledged my slight figure in the mirror. Mrs. Haliburton noticed, smiling to herself. I had a feeling she could relate.

The Halliburtons had a small league of servants who attended to cooking and cleaning and keeping the house and farm- the man himself was out in the fields of his own accord, watching a herd of cattle. I had only read about those things in classic literature- large bonanza-like farms, the keepings of a large household. They had no children, and were very hospitable, but quiet and secretive. I found a few hair pins in a drawer and styled my hair accordingly; I felt like Victoria, which frightened me only slightly. I wondered what LaBouef would think when he spied my hair no longer so fiercely braided- it was a pleasurable thought.

My hosts kept silent as night came to the prairie: LaBoeuf returned after supper, taking a few moments to discuss something of what seemed like great importance with Alabaster in the sectioned dining room- Marissa and I and two servants waited in the kitchen, cleaning up.

"Missus Alabaster, what has the wind blown in?" One servant asked, wiping the sweat off her brow with her forehand. I introduced myself as Mattie Ross and was given a slight welcome.

"I am Tialynn, the cook. Call me Tia." Said the Indian woman, once all was rinsed with the drawn water and the pretty tea dishes secured in the pantry. Marissa called for a bottle of wine and Tia disappeared from view.

"Found her in the siege at Elkhorn. She is a good cook. Will not take no for an answer." Marissa commented.

I hastily untied the apron about my waist and set it on a peg, watching the action in the far room sans dialogue. I tried to picture what was said; LaBoeuf looked concerned.

"Is everything alright?" Mrs. Halliburton asked, as I crept my view to the two men.

"Yes, I am just curious as to what is going on."

She shrugged. "I do not take much a caring to what my husband discusses- unless it concerns me."

I wanted to explain to her the situation I was under- that LaBoeuf had practically kidnapped me from my small town, riding the two of us off into the night and mocking me from outside a shabby shed in the middle of the prairie. I decided the explanation would only alienate our acquaintance more. Besides, I was still confused- I was not quite sure where I would begin. Tia returned with a bottle of red wine from the basement. I tapped my fingers across the windowpane. Marissa poured me a glass of wine.

After a long series of pauses, the men nodded and the ranger was released, mine for the taking. I took a sip of the wine- I had a feeling I would need the flexibility to wrap my mind around whatever explanation he had for me. Such anxieties plagued me to drink, although in any other scenario I would have politely refused. Such stress was too great a burden. I understood immediately why so many of our great United States presidents all had histories of drinking problems.

I took another sip of it and clutched LaBoeuf's arm as he passed. I realized how much I had grown- he was no longer the tall man tower above me- our eyes almost met along the same line now.

"Mr. LaBoeuf." I pressed. "Please."

There was an exotic-looking parlor in the front of the house, where one might find privacy among books or with an intimate friend. Tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Halliburton had retreated to their rooms and the Ranger and I were left alone. He pulled up a chair beside be as I watched the rain fall outside. Night was slowly creeping back under the weight of day- the daylight hours were growing more prominent. It made me happy, somewhat. The last layers of ice were all melting from winter, fading away as quickly as they had appeared.

"I cannot imagine the confusion you must be feeling as of late." He said apologetically. "But I promised to explain all to you- and I intend to keep that promise."

I was mesmerized by the clear raindrops accumulating on the windowpane. He rested his hand on my shoulder, ungloved. I turned around immediately at his touch. His eyes were a bloodshot shade of red, and his hands were wrung dirty- I bestowed on him a look of compassion. I too, was tired, and distracted- very much so. It had been imprudent of me to insist upon a commentary, seeing as he had provided for me and now was in want himself.  
"It is late." I said finally. "Get some rest, Mr. LaBeouf. You can explain everything to me in the morning."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I have promised. It is yours to know. You must understand-" He began. I silenced him with a single gesture.

I had changed my mind.

"Rest." I said. "We are safe here, you said so yourself."

"Miss Ross-"

We reached a compromise in a matter of seconds. He would dismiss himself early, if I would rise the next morning- a Sunday- to meet with him.

We excused ourselves to opposite sides of the grand abode. I hoped he would be alright. Night came and went; sleep fell over all- we joined again in the parlor at breakfast, fresh-eyed and in better spirits.

"Much better." I said, not hiding my smile this time- he returned the favor. "You looked dreadful."  
"As did you." Was his saucy reply. I shook it to the wayside.  
"Mr. LaBoeuf, I fancy you are not a gentleman like you say. But I would take a clean rogue over a filthier prince any day of the week." I assured him.

He produced a picture of Cumberland and we were on to business.

"I understand my actions the day before yesterday were very- rash. But you must know it was because I received word of a stinking plot in Dardanelle, regarding a William R. Cumberland."

"I can see that." I said. He retrieved the same old pipe, turning it in his hands again. A nervous habit. I remembered the note that I had found in the saddlebag. Had it been addressed to Cumberland or had I only imagined it?

"It was not just any plot- not to steal or remove or sabotage anything of earthly value. There was only one thing the man was after, Mattie."

I was puzzled. "And what was that?"

"You are very familiar with it." His face was dark. My eyes rose from the floor to him, quickly.

"Revenge."  
He nodded. "Precisely- a uno informate, if you will."

I recognized the Latin phrase- it indicated something that was not tangible, but powerful all the same. I was still somewhat lost, however. "Why would he be seeking out revenge from me? I have not done anything."  
"You! Haw-haw." He threw out a chuckle in spite of himself. "You- Mattie Ross, killed his father in hot blood with your father's gun."  
"Only because that coward Tom Chaney killed him first and robbed him of every possession. " I fired back.

LaBoeuf blinked. "You misinterpret me. I am your side, in all entirety. But do you not remember what I told you that morning, so long ago?"

"There were many mornings, none that I can recall so quickly."

"You called me a rodeo clown and armed yourself with a string of wanton lines- insulting my ranking as Texas Ranger- "

I jogged my memory, thinking back to my time in Fort Smith, years ago- the first time I had met the man. Yes, insults had been my specialty, I was often informed. He had watched me sleeping, I recalled, as I had been sick with a ripe case of cold. I only remember that I had insulted him with much fervor.

"Moderately." I said.

"I told you that Chaney took many aliases- different identities he used from place to place."

I saw no importance in the matter. "Yes- but how is that in any fashion related to Cumberland being bent on me?"

He tilted his head just so. "William Cumberland is David Cumberland's son- in essence, Tom Chaney was his father."  
He said this all very fast. I took a moment to breathe. The tables had turned.

"But my killing Chaney was justified." I defended myself finally. "And besides, it was six years ago- if he was so up and fired and mad, why didn't he do away with me once I got home to Dardanelle?"

"He was a drifter in the Dakota Territory- he wasn't well connected to his kin. By the time he had learnt of your- actions-"

I cut in abruptly. "It is not possible. Chaney was not much older than twenty. He could not have had a grown son at the time."

"You may have judged Chaney as being younger than he was."  
I was not ready to admit the fact, but I accepted it as possibility. "So Cumberland is after me?"  
"Yes, but that is not all."  
I let out a long breath and slumped in my chair. What more on earth could plague us?  
"Cumberland was in with a mean gang- kin of Lucky Ned Pepper and his group. They are all in pursuit on you, Mattie."

"Impossible." All the fury in the world had risen to deface me. A single question remained- why had LaBoeuf bothered with it at all? He explained to me that he had gone into the fur trade up north, to which I was already aware.

"I wrote you letters." I specified. "And you did not reply. I understood it then."

LaBoeuf was, like Cumberland- a wandering trapper and somewhat successful trader. As strange as coincidences are, this one was all the more bizarre. The Officer had been at the game of cards during a rash snowstorm when Cumberland had been present. He had been in that exact spot, at the exact time where the matter had been discussed- he had heard my name uttered, and, being a seasoned ranger and thinker, saw the makings of heinous crime.

"Soon as the others mentioned you and Fort Smith and Rooster Cogburn, his wheels were a-turning."

I questioned LaBoeuf as to why Cumberland had not gone after Cogburn instead. LaBoeuf was not sure, but he did hint. "I do not think him that slow of wit. I do not like Cogburn, but the man has reputation."

"Reputation." I repeated.

"He would think it unwise to go after the cruelest marshal on this side of the plains."

It made good sense.

LaBoeuf remarked that at first, he did not take a thinking that Cumberland was serious. He had let it alone,

until he had heard of his plans while stationed in McAlester, near the state line.

"I knew it was his design to destroy you, and take as many people with him as possible. "

I studied him. "Why didn't you let it happen?" Protecting me seemed almost impractical, in all honesty.

LaBoeuf furrowed his brow at that. "Surely you do not hold some sort of prejudice- that I would allow anyone to bring harm to you."  
"It was of great danger and inconvenience-" I began.

"Convenience does not concern me. I heard of his design, so I went after him, in full discretion of law. I was prepared to kill him if he got too close. There was a scramble outside Fort Smith with him and his group, but I got to them quick and ran the rest of his gang into the Indian nation-"

"Truly?" I asked, amazed.

"I would not have the nerve to make up such things."  
A great emotion stirred in me. I felt secretly treasured, although I knew duty must be the underlying cause of his design.

"It was close, though- I barely got to you in time. He planned on firing out in the open-"  
"He did." I said quickly. "He did, right near my sister and her husband."

"I had to act prudently- so I grabbed you and rode on. My only thought was to get you out of there quick."

My mind wandered back to the puzzling event- I remembered my confusion and horror- mirrored in the looks on the faces of the guests, scared straight as I was picked up into the night.

"Why did you hide your face?" I asked, recalling his garb.

He almost looked amused. "Cumberland's a crafty one- he would not hesitate for a minute to plant his gang in that tent. If just one would have spotted me-" He peered out into the grey landscape, where the April showers had begun, nature's timing just perfect. He stood. "Let us say we would not be here at the present time."

A moment passed by and we both thought on the gravity of the situation.

"They are still looking for me." I observed. He nodded.

A burden was casted onto my shoulders-heavier, all the while, and I felt unsafe- exposed. I crossed my arms over my frame. The Ranger took a step forward and the wooden floorboards creaked softly. I thought I heard someone laugh in a distant room.

"I took you out here- because the Hailliburtons owe me a favor- and they have safe haven here. No one would detect your presence."

My mind was far away from such thoughts of cozy beds and hot breakfasts. I wanted to seek them out, save time, eat scantily and travel light. It was the way things must be done.

"And your disappearances?"  
"I've been communicating with another Ranger stationed in Waco, who is after a few of Cumberland's gang for a grand theft. We have been in contact and he has been giving me valuable information from the base there."  
I smirked at him. "So, I suppose it is safe to say you are no longer in the fur trade."  
"No."

As we sat, he reconciled himself to having plucked me from my own sister's affair. I accepted the apology, on claims that we would scope out the ones responsible and bring them to a swift informed me of his designs- the first, to keep me safe from harm, and the second- to seek out the men who took a chasing to us and to seal Chaney's- Cumberland's- justice in any way he knew of.


	7. Seven

7

I was not so accustomed to the ebb and flow of grand country estates. It was unusual, at the very best. How puzzling, such lifestyles! I would have not allowed it for myself, nor a family if I had one.

Each morning I was awakened by Tia, who brought me breakfast- biscuits on glass plates, with sugar, butter- juice in tall frivolous glasses, salted pork and cheese, silver cutler ware. As soon as I was on my own, my bed was made in a flash and the rugs swept up from under my feet, to be shaken out on the back porch. There was never a short supply of anything at the Halliburton house- I was convinced that the poles would melt, or that our grand country would cede back with Britain before there was anything in want. Mrs. Halliburton minded her days at the fireplace, reading some sort of romantic story. Mother had never let me read those stories. I did not care to now.

There was a different dress for every day, all placed up together neatly in a vanity, just for me. Brilliant reds, pale blues and steel greys- some for cooking or riding or relaxing in- others, suited more adequately for banquets or weddings. I wasted a full afternoon, trying each one on separately, realizing my eyes were best brought out in the "warmer colors", as Tia's little daughter, Harem, had said.

"You look mighty pretty, missus." The girl was around eight, with two braids and freckles and a mousy face. She reminded me faintly of my younger self, if I had been more charming and agreeable.

After the child was gone, I set the dresses back where I had found them. I was upset with myself- since when did I, Mattie Ross, run for dresses? Why on God's green earth would I mind a dress, once way or the other, whether blue or red or white or grey- there was no method in it. It did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Looking back on it now, I see it was a way of preserving my sanity as I sat about that mansion, doing nothing of importance and seeing no one, save the lady of the house and her servants, most of whom who's name I could not remember to boot.

It made me feel all the more vain. I stole a look at my missing arm- even in the dresses it reminded me of truth- one arm. One-armed me, little one-armed Mattie, never cut out to marry or sew or keep still and make polite conversation.

LaBoeuf was out with Halliburton on the great plain. There were no horses readily available, and the stables were locked, so I went on foot to visit them across the way. I thought I may have seen Marissa gawking at me through the fancy windows, eyes wide and horrified as I trampled through the wild land, creasing the hem of her pretty dress from St. Louis. I did not much care. I was not usually in such ill spirits, but the day had made me weary and anxious.

I was ready to depart, to see home to my family and insure that all was safe and no one harmed. I wanted to seek out the man responsible, again. I wanted one more posse off our land and I wanted to be home- to Mother and Frank and the horses.

I did, did I not?

A few minutes into my walk, I came across Alabaster Halliburton, posed grandly on a tall beige thoroughbred- fifteen hands or more, if I recall correctly. He wore a wide brimmed hat and looked almost as ornate as my Texan officer.

He was alone.

I walked sideways, as to not frighten the horse. The man watched a string of buffalo grazing only a few hundred yards away. I could tell he noticed me, but did not take his eyes off the herd.

"LaBoeuf told me you'd be out here before long." He said. "Says you've got- grit."

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"Why?"

I hesitated. "I have been meaning to talk with him."

He turned his gaze to me, then to my arm- or lack of one, in my case. It was the first time he had really noticed it.

"How did you lose your arm?"

I thought for moment of where to begin, swaddled up tight in the memories- a warm breeze whistled past. He was trying to get my mind off the mission, what I had set myself out there to do. I was not out there for chitchat or informing or recalling. I was there to find LaBoeuf and find him quick.

"It is very important that I talk with him as swiftly as possible." I said dryly. "Will you please direct me to him?"

"He is in town, on business."  
"Business of what sort?"  
The old man caught his tongue, mentally stepping back from my grasp.

"I know he is in contact with a group of vigilantes who are seeking out a certain group."

"I am aware of such." I said scantily.

"Then you know all I know. That is all I have of his intentions- he asked my wife, Marissa, to attend to you if she would not mind it. I hope she has been hospitable."  
I cut in. "She has been, I have thoroughly exhausted her efforts. I am very grateful."

"That is good."

I sensed the man did not much care either way- he cast his glance back to the herd. A small calf was looking straight at us. It bleated a groan.

"A beautiful herd." I commented. His face brightened somewhat at the remark.

"They are, huh? I bought them from a man named Lassiter, on the way back from California."  
"You own them?" I wondered why I was so surprised.

"Of course. They were the first purchase we made off our gold."

"So you struck it rich?"

The question was provocative, impolite. I took a breath to apologize, but held it back.

"We picked up everything we had and left it all behind- Yerba Buena, that is where it all happened. Buckets- buckets of the stuff. My Marissa was not much older than you when we found it."  
"You were newlyweds."

"Why, yes, and banished like Cain, too. I was the poor Indian boy and she was a well-to do politician's daughter. I bet her Daddy would have loved to shake my hand once word got back that we were worth the whole state." He shuddered with a cough. I shifted my weight in the moist prarie soil.

"How did you meet LaBoeuf?"  
"In a raid. We were on our way back, from Monterrey- "

"Monterrey?"

"Yes, a settlement in California."  
I straightened my skirt against the wind. "I know what it is. I have family in Monterey.

He dropped his hands from the reigns and sat back. "Shoulda taken the train. No, I said, I was still cheap." He seemed to say this all to himself, but he looked at me and I was corrected. "Back then, daughter, people did not much like the idea of a natural man being in great wealth. We had several men from California after us. They were convince that we came about it unlawfully. We figured that if we could cut across Amarillo, that we would be home free. Big mistake."

"The men pursued you?"  
"In all ways, yes. Threatened to kill us- I saw the dark side of wealth, that day. I learned to hate it."

I was left wondering what his exact meaning was, or where the officer came in to all of it. An old man will ring on forever about the things of the past. I had learned that from Cogburn, and now I saw it in the Choctaw man as well.

HE continued. "LaBoeuf led a small group of rangers against the pursuit- I suppose there was one running with them who was wanted back in Fort Worth. We were in the right place at the right time, so to speak. We made out safely with most of the gold on hand. We were lucky."

"So you befriended the man."

"Yes, we did. He had family in the Dakota territory-once, but it was the same for us. The Crow knocked the Choctaw outta the region. We had a bit in common."

The herd of buffalo before us were picking up their paces and moving westward. He trotted to catch up and I walked beside him.

"Did LaBoeuf give word as to his return?" I asked.

Alabaster was unsure. "I am not certain, but it must be soon."  
"I see."  
"Do you have questions to ask him?"

"Yes, something by that design."

He bid me well and assured me he would pass the message on as soon as they reunited.

I turned to leave. The large house was only a speck in the distance. Perhaps I exaggerated. On the horse, the man Alabaster glanced at the amputated limb. I stared down at the prairie grass that moved all around me, tickling my ankles.

"It was a rattlesnake bite." I said abruptly. The older man turned the horse around, back to the herd. I had his attention.

"What did you say?"  
"My arm-." I began. "I was bit by a potent reptile."

"You are lucky to have survived thus far."  
"Yes. It all happened when I was but fourteen."

Alabaster gave me a nod. "So that is the story, then? That is why they are after you?"

It was an understatement and he knew it, to which I did not appreciate.

"LaBoeuf has also saved my life- and he has done it again." The answer was cryptic, but I left him with it, wide stepping back to the house. Outside, Tia was stringing up clothing on a clothes line. The dresses and trousers flew up with the wind. The day was approaching noon and it was growing increasingly warm.

"Hello, Miss Ross." She offered. I noticed a horse, a black pony behind the servant's home on the side of the house.

"Is that yours?" I asked her. She looked up, motioned to it.

"Only borrowed, ma'am. I was fixing to go get supplies from the general, about town."

"In Clayton?" I asked. The servant nodded.

"Yes, the lady has requested more soap, and oats and barley-"

I stepped over to the pony and untied it and walked it by the reigns into the open. The woman watched me, hoisting the basket of clean clothes at her hip. I stroked the mare.

"You goin' somewhere, Miss/"

"Yes, if I may."  
"Where to?"

Tia's daughter emerged from the back of the servant house and sat, crisscrossed in the grass. She smiled at me, a big smile with a tooth missing.

"Into town." I replied. "I would like to go fetch the supplies for you." I nudged the horse with my hand, then mounted, quite oddly, drawing a laugh from Harem that was like warm water.

"She is incredible!" The little girl exclaimed. I was unsure to whom her comment was directed- me or the horse. The thing trotted in a circle, then hung it's head low.

"It is a fine horse." I observed. "Does it have a name?"

"Muse."

"Muse." I repeated, pressed it on forward. "Oats, soap and barley- is that what you needed.

Tia set the basked down. "I can fetch it, Miss-"  
"I insist." I said quickly. "Do you need a full case or half-a-case?"

The woman shuddered beneath her shawl. "Missus Halliburton will not have it."

"Well, I am off anyway. Give her my regards."

With that, I took off into a quick run, jumping the pony over the fence on my way out. The two servants only stared, wide eyed, as I departed.

The afternoon was bright and clean when I rode into town. I realized, foolishly, that I had not thought to pack any money with me. I had nothing to purchase supplies with. It made me feel a great deal stupid. I attributed it to my rash decision- my headstrong ways- and dismounted at the local inn. How strange, the settlement. Clayton looked just like Fort Smith, or any town in that respect, only miniature sized. I almost could have been fooled, if not for the street names and lack of proper hanging grounds.

The people of Clayton were different- most them of mixed blood- Cherokee, Choctaw men and women with children, dressed in bustles- seldom would you see a white man. This encouraged my effort to find the ranger where he stood, and I smiled. My hopes were not yet diminished.

A man on the porch of the inn told me he had seen the cowlick-clad Officer at the tavern down the way, in the company of others. I thanked the man and asked his name, to which he replied. "Keithley."

I followed his outstretched hand and took off to the Kauf Tavern. Once there, a strange man, "Trapper Dan", clothed in fur pelts despite the heat of the day directed me to the Sheriff's office.

The Clayton Sherriff was a young man- younger than I, about twenty I guessed- and had questionable backgrounds. His "headquarters" were modest- a measly old building sandwiched between two abandoned saloons.

"He's got a bad reputation." Trapper Dan had said. I did not care much to the state of the man's reputation- I was in search of LaBoeuf and would make my presence known.

I stormed inside to see the two of them talking over a table. LaBoeuf stood when he saw me.

"What is the matter?"

The kid sheriff moved to his desk. The conversation had ended right as I had entered. LaBoeuf scanned my frame, as if to ensure that I had not been ambushed or stabbed or assaulted some way on my way over. He informed me later that Clayton, although deceptive, was one of the most lawless places in the Indian Territory.

He walked me to the Inn, where Muse stood, facing us, a splitting image of Little Blackie.

"What is the emergency of your visit?" HE asked me, placing something in the saddlebag and suiting up. He offered to help me, but I hoisted myself onto the horse, one-handed.

"NO emergency." I said. "But I had to see you."  
He grinned in spite of himself. "I gather you left unattended."

"Mrs. Halliburton is hospitable, but not much else." I stated.  
"You are bold."

"You sound surprised." I watched him as we began the descent back. "I am ready now."

"For what?"

"To seek out Cumberland."

I did not see any sense in staying at the Halliburton Estate. I was ready to search him out, to find him.

"It is going to rain." LaBoeuf said, stealing a gaze above us. There was not a single cloud in the sky.

"How do you know?" I asked. There was a brief silence.

"D'you hear that?"

"No."

He rode up beside me. "Exactly."

I learned later that it was an old ranger trick- silence was a key indicator that nature was preparing herself for a great summer rainstorm. Within moments, clouds had accumulated and overshadowed the falling sun and we were completely drenched. It fell, maddening, fast, as if someone in the sky had churned a thousand water pumps all at once. Our horses hung their heads low to keep the water out of their eyes. We passed a bridge, which marked the beginnings of the Halliburton's piece. LaBoeuf stopped, seeking refuge beneath an overhang of juniper trees. I let go of the reigns and squeezed the water out of my hair, then shook it dry. LaBoeuf was watching me from his horse, a small smirk strung across his face.

"What are you looking at?" I snapped. There was a witty word on his lips, but he waited a minute and it faded. No such remarks. I was disappointed. We waited for it to let up, but weather commonly has ideas of its own. I was partial to snow, myself- although cold, it fell quietly and was a pure substance- rain melted everything and ruined good plans. I thought of Tia's clothesline.

"You are something." He said, finally, watching the rain. My gaze followed his- a single buffalo strayed, a hundred or so yards away, meagering at the brush.

"As are you." I replied. "A poor man's hero, cavalier-"  
"You are no good at compliments."

I laughed. "I will practice. But you should not expect it to change any time soon."

He informed me that he did not. I started to feel the gravity of my consequence- Mrs. Halliburton would not be pleased by my treading of her rules, nor the use of her horse. Tia and Harem might be scolded, which was a guilt-inducing thought. LaBoeuf continued to watch me as I thought on these things. My dress dripped with the rain. I was cold. It was refreshing- the whole experience reminded me faintly of my famous "river crossing". I remembered the look on Cogburn's face as I ignored the barge and stormed through that river, more than ready to face the other side. A priceless, glorious moment. I was headset on revenge. I had determination. I had not even noticed the icy water when it hit my sin- now, even warm rain made me shake. I was older, weaker than before- but I refused to lose strength. I had hunger to feel like I was to be understood. The rain fell a little lighter now- drops visible as they fell from worlds above.

LaBoeuf attended to something at his side as I watched the buffalo. It was coming towards us now- running? It was close in seconds, bleating in some sort of pain.

"LaBoeuf." I said. He saw it, watching it carefully as it stuttered towards us. He pulled out his rifle from the side. All was quiet, except the rain and our breathing and the buffalo's cries.

When it finally fell, we trotted over to it. IT had been shot in the side, and was bleeding profusely. It was a grisly sight.

We took off in a run towards the house. It had alarmed LaBoeuf; he did not see the rest of the herd or Alabaster. As we drew nearer and nearer to the Halliburton house, I realized.

Something was very wrong.

Here is what happened next. We saw the first body upon the front lawn. LaBoeuf dismounted and loaded the rifle, stepping over the Chinese servant whose name was Chen, if I recall correctly. I rode Muse up to the side of the shed and tethered it. Then, I followed him, carefully, inside.

Throughout my life and its experiences, I have seen a great many horrific things. Nothing ever topped what I saw at the Halliburton house that day, as a twenty-one year old woman. Servants, four or five of them, lay strewn about the house. There were clear signs of struggle. Each one had been shot, either in the back or the side or through the hands. Mrs. Halliburton's chinaware and glass centerpieces were broken on the floor of the kitchen- furniture was overturned and cast iron stove had a dent in the side. In the parlor where LaBoeuf and I had sat only a few days prior, the servant Tia lay in a chair, bloody.

She was dead.

Upon seeing her, I held back a sob- this woman was one I knew. Our hopes were ruined. All in the house were dead. Mr. and Mrs. Halliburton, along with Tia's daughter, Harem- were nowhere to be found. In the basement, LaBoeuf found the safe had been broken into and all the gold was gone. A man with a pink face who he had never seen before was down there as well, shot with Alabaster's .44 pistol.

He emerged from the house with a small sack of supplies. His forlorn face was only masked by my own. I wiped incoming tears. I could not speak.

"This was not a coincidence." He said.

"They killed everyone."  
He paced about the wooly Appalachian. "That man was running with Cumberland's gang."

"Which one?"

"The dead one."

He swept himself onto the horse. "I suspect they've taken both of them, Alabaster and Marissa. They are not here."

"This was my fault."  
He shook his head. "This complicates things, I am afraid."

I glanced at him through tear-rimmed eyes.

We made a fire down by the river. We did not have the nerve to take the bodies from their respected place, to set them in the ground. LaBoeuf predicted that the Sheriff would be around soon, but they would dothing about it. There was not much to do, in any case.

So much blood.

I could not sleep- I had retrieved one of Marissa's quilts to have for my own use, but it did nothing to sooth the ache. I could see it in the Officer as well, for he kept his eyes on the flames and would not look at me.

"LaBoeuf. "

"Hmm?"

A moment of stillness. The fire crackled, sending sparks into the inky black night.

"I have one request." I said.

He took out the pipe and turned it in his hands. He waited for me to finish.

"I would like to give Tia a proper Christian burial."

He studied the landscape a moment before replying. "Of course, Mattie."

We buried Tia in a plot back behind the house, under the shade of a southern oak. I stood there for a moment, still, eyes closed. I said a small prayer and sent it skyward.

My design was to let go. I knew in my heart that I was not just mourning for this kindly servant- but for my former life, for normalcy, for my family- Mother, Victoria, Frank- for myself.  
For myself.

LaBoeuf removed his hat. Behind us, the horses neighed and threw their tails about. The day was approaching; it was to be a perfect, cloudless time. An attribute to new beginnings and pursuits.

He set a hand to my back and I found myself leaning on his shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut. Lord in Heaven, I begged for strength, for truth- for ultimate justice- that those who caused such pain by ending innocent lives, spilling honest blood, would not find favor or rest. I wished a plague to befall them- those who had so aimlessly and unnaturally sought me out and pursued me behind massacres.


	8. Eight

8

We set out North, stopping in Clayton before disembarking. LaBoeuf picked up a stack of papers at the postal office.

"Standard procedure." He had said.

We made our way down the main street of the town- it was midmorning, and only a few in sight.

"LaBoeuf, this is not the proper way." I pointed out. "It we are to go to Poteau, we must take the route due east, not west."

LaBoeuf did not reply. He stopped in front of the town boarding house and dismounted. He took the reins of my horse and tethered them to a nearby pole, then paused.

"Forgive me."

It took me a moment for his actions to register. I slid off the horse's back and pulled the reigns from his grip. He tore the saddle and placed it to the side. I watch him do all this and was further bewildered.

"What are you doing? We are wasting time." I cried aloud. He stopped and looked up from his work.

"I will arrange for you to stay here. You will be safe and cared for. When all is done- I will return, find you, and see you home."

I laughed at that. "You cannot expect that I will stay here."

"You do not understand-"  
"I understand perfectly. "I said to him. "Would you endow me some credit?"  
He shook his head. I stepped around the horse and, with one arm, picked up the saddle and slung it over my shoulder. He watched me carefully as I placed it on the dark horse. I swerved on my heel.

"I am coming with you."

"You will stay here and keep yourself from trouble."  
"I refuse. You need my help, my expertise- I know this land as well as you, if not better, and I intend to be alongside you all the while."

"No."

"Why do you refuse my help? You cannot just place me where you like. I will have my way."

"It would be cruel to place you in such danger."

"I am not a child!" I protested. Such statement caught his attention. I was in the right and it was a thing that could not stay hidden beneath possessive care or good intentions. LaBoeuf's half-hearted attempts to "protect the weak" were stymied. The moment passed. He assured me that he would return and explain it all in due process. I assured him I had heard that one before.

"It will be difficult for you." He said.

"I can bear it."

"The heat will swoon you."  
"No, it will not."

"You will encounter murderous men and grow faint."

"Ridiculous. I do not faint at murderous men." I tossed the comment aside. "I shoot them."

A young couple strolling down the way took notice of us. I did not much care. It was a lovely feeling, to not give thought- it was an indicator that I, slowly, was regaining my countenance. My grit.

"Miss Ross, for my own welfare- I ask you to remain here and allow me to scope it out."  
I studied him. "I call your bluff."

"Your design is perverse, Miss Ross-"  
"Why do you incessantly call me that? My name is Mattie, I am not an infant nor a widow, so it is no longer an appropriate title."

The look on his face denoted that he would never call me "Miss Ross" again.

"Is it proper, my design?" I continued. "No. But you have had the rich audacity to take me out into this area- "  
"I thought we left that alone."

"I thought you learned that I am not one to be reckoned with."

The man sighed. He took off his hat and pressed back the cowlick on the crown of his head.

I observed. "I will go with you."  
"No, you will not."

"Yes, I will."  
"No, you won't."

This went on excessively for several minutes. I grew ever the more irritable.

"Look here, LaBoeuf. Do you say that you know me?"  
He did not grasp the question. I repeated myself.

"Do you know me?"  
He expected it to be a trick. "Yes, I know you, Mattie Ross."

"Then you are in full mind that there is no way I will bequeath your request. If that is the case, then all this carrying on is in vain and you are in full awareness of it." I reestablished myself on the horse and took the rein. "Those men are getting away and we are stuck here, arguing."  
"You are hoo-rawing me."

"That is correct." I confirmed. Somewhere beneath his look, a laugh was being denied. He could not stay angry with me. I continued.

"In return, I, Mattie Ross, will give word not to abandon you- it would be a mad thing to attempt. It is likely that we will come to know that we are in want of the other, and vice-versa."

He mounted the horse and heeled its flanks, leading me on in silence. I was not sure if he was angry or perplexed. He did not speak for some time.

The only way to Poteau was by following a pass through the mountains. We expected the fugitives to take this path- to the North, there were scourges of Indians- to the south, Texan country- open, patrolled, dangerous. Our best bet was to pursue them east.

"That is where I reckon they will head." He had said. Outside Lake Eufaula, we found remains of a camp and evidence of their stay. It lifted our spirits out of the dust. A wandering fisherman by the lake informed us of a small party that had made their stay in a safe house by the shore.

Once, there, LaBoeuf found a small golden coin and one of Alabaster's bolo ties. We assumed he had left us a trail. The ash from the stove was still hot and charred.

"Would you like to purchase trout or catfish livers?" The fisherman asked. "The Choctaw are in want of them and they serve up fine over a bed of rice pilaf."  
We politely declined.

The main legwork of our journey was in tracking the group- they trailed around Poteau, and then dipped down towards Heavener. LaBoeuf believed they would cross state lines and try to hide out in Arkansas, near the city of Mena. He did not see much sense in it- a group of marshals scanning from Ft. Smith to Baton Rouge were on the lookout for other fugitives in that area. Apparently, one of the men in Cumberland's gang was being sought after by a troop of Rangers out of Dallas.

"It is a coincidence if I ever did see one." LaBoeuf remarked. "Those boys will be in a bad place once they cross over."

"I wonder if Cogburn is with them."  
I thought of the one eyed, cork pulling marshal and cracked a grin. The sun peeked out behind the clouds. It was warm as we made camp near the state line, in a thickly forested area with a large lake. I almost felt like it was an excursion.

I prepared a fire with nearby logs and set myself down in determination to write Mother. LaBoeuf kept a stack of papers and a small inkling pen with his supplies, so I took to borrowing some and used the fire as my light.

I thought for six long minutes of what to say to her, what to ask her. I had heard no word of trouble in Dardanelle, and I assumed all was safe. A passing fear clenched me, but I shook it off and set my pen to paper.

_Mother- _

_I am writing to you to inform you that I am very much alive and well. The mad man with a pistol at Victoria's wedding, William R. Cumberland, was after me for actions of my youth and got it in his mind he would kill me. Luckily enough, a Texas Ranger by the name of LaBoeuf, (whom I had befriended several years prior) heard of the plot and swept me up before Cumberland had a chance to act. We are doing well now, and are in hot pursuit of Cumberland and his gang. By the time you read this, I will be in either Mena, Arkansas, or near Texarkana, Texas. _

_I will return home soon. Please give Victoria, Mitchell, and Frank my regards. _

_Mattie_

I read it over, once, twice. It sounded quaint, only a shadow of what was. Too tired to rewrite or spruce things up, I folded it and set it in my bag. I would remind myself in the next town to mail it off. It would cool Mother's nerves quickly.

LaBoeuf smoked a pipe across from me. I watched him for a moment. It was a strange thing.

"It is not polite to stare." He regarded.

"I thought we had done away with all formalities."

A moment. Puffs of smoke clouded the space between us. He set it down. Years later, I accused him of not truly liking the smoking. I assumed it was ranger policy, to smoke and ride and wear frivolous garb.

"I wanted to apologize for something." He said quickly. The words grabbed my attention. I tucked the page away, then leaned forward.

"I am listening."

"On your fifteenth birthday- I was taking you home, if you do remember it. After the run in with Chaney- and you had lost your arm and were in much pain."  
I remembered it. "I do."

"Well, you were of much drink that night, and I was somewhat as well. Although- I was in better control." He put forward. Never missed a chance to insult me.

"I am beginning to think I would rather not hear."

"We danced- and- I kissed you. Mighty fast, and for a long while."

A howl resounded somewhere in the distance. I jumped up immediately, frightened in spite of myself. I watched the fire, then took a seat beside him, in the event that any sort of wild creature would make its presence known.

"You kissed me?" I asked.

"Yes."

A pause. "And that is all?"  
"Of course. On my honor, it is all."

"Ah."

He was watching me too carefully for a response. "Ah?"

"I do not remember it, it is a pity. That is what drink does."

I tried my best to recall it, but could not. I may have grown older believing he had, but months and days of forgetfulness and nothingness of routines had worn me down.

"You do not remember."

"No."  
He leaned back. "I am most insulted."

"Good, I would have set a fist to you if I had been aware at the time."

He smiled, forging a chuckle. I brought my knees to my chest and watched the moon reflect off the water in the grand lake. Above us, stars glittered in the summer sky.

I remembered a time when, right before bed, Mother would tell me and Victoria about how she had met my Father. She had been a nurse working in a station just before the Great War, and had met him when he had been injured in an accident on the front in some pointless skirmish. He had punctured his knee all the way through and was not allowed to leave the confines of the small tending area. But he had heard my mother say that she wanted to go look out at the stars that night, she had told her close friend. So he followed her, just like that, limp and all, down to the banks of the Mississippi, setting a hand to her head and thanking her for being there for everyone.

I was unsure why the story came to mind at the present moment. I studied the sand beneath my feet. It was warm and gravely. I sunk my feet in it.

"LaBoeuf?"

"Hm." He sat up, reaching for a cup of the lake water and taking it in hand. He offered it to me but I declined. We waited in the silence, eyes forward, thinking. Thinking. I broke the silence.

"Did you really kiss me, or are you only playing me out the fool?"

It was a silly, Victoria-like question, but I did not mind it. I was in want of truth. He studied my face a moment before responding.

"Yes."

"Oh."

A pause. For some reason, LaBoeuf was very close to me- I only just realized it. My arm ached again, phantom pains. Over the years, I had learned to ignore them, and now such feelings did not show in my eyes.

"Would you like to remember?" He asked quietly.

I nodded.

He cupped my face, looking into my eyes, and kissed me. It was very soft and very sweet- like a whispered prayer, or the embrace of a forgotten friend, if one can imagine such things. We parted after a time and I was looking into those eyes again- all the more blue against the firelight. It was not to be romanticized; but it was a moment I will not soon forget.

We did not speak. We allowed the fire to die down- I drifted off to sleep without blankets- a contradiction of my personal creed- and awoke some time before dawn. We were saddled up, ready for pursuit as the sun met us, on tardy. LaBoeuf had made plans to meet with a Ranger in Mena. Our goal was to begin to close in on the fugitives, retrieve the Halliburtons, and see that Cumberland was not without fault.

I sensed our end was in sight.


	9. Nine

**9**

The next day harrowed on in heat. It was the first of May, already hot on the plains. The heat of heavy clothing and dark horses did nothing to alleviate it. Thoughts- various notions swirled in my mind like dirty water in a bucket. LaBoeuf was silent again, come morning, apparently deep in thought. He was a Ranger, scouting out where we stood, on the lookout, for something I knew not of. I wished to understand his thoughts- to see the logic, the motives behind them.

Although he never disclosed such thoughts with me, I could almost guess by the way he nodded his head, or his subtle, masterful spurring of the Appalachian horse.

The area we crossed was more than familiar- I, myself, had run through this territory with a Marshal R. Cogburn only six-and-a-half years prior. Now things were much different- it was a pleasant sort of warm, the trees- junipers, oaks, maples- were dressed in mature deep green all around. Somewhere, a scissor tailed flycatcher belted out her morning songs.

I was tired. It must have been the humid night air seeping into my lungs while I slept. Or, perhaps I was exhausted from so many emotions- confusion, grief, shame, loss- excitement; secret joy- all stirring together in my heart. The night prior had thrilled me; although I showed my best to hide it. There was never a feeling like it in the world. The thought I had been kissed- once- no, twice- made me feel all the more scandalous.

Such vain, empty thoughts!

I was a might surprised that my head did not float away with them. Such things were, fleeing, distracting. I would not think on them again, I decided. Through the brush, a wide valley came into view and the sun emerged behind an accumulation of clouds. A few small prarie houses littered the landscape. It was hard for me to believe settlers lived out here, right in the middle of the territory, not a town in sight. It seemed to be a hard, merciless life. But perhaps my impression was flawed. I thought of living out there, alone. Or, maybe not alone. Maybe with somebody. Or a family. Both.

Daydreaming, again. Who was I? I shook the thoughts from my head. Humidity does strange things to people. That is for certain.

LaBoeuf suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned and listened- one, two.

Silence.

I smirked. "Is it going to rain again?"

No reply.

One- two.

I had no time to think. Gunshots exploded around us, splitting at us, right, left- from all around- although now that I recall it, I believe it was all from the brush beside us. It was accompanied by harsh shouts, low, beastly murmurs. Muse squealed a great cry and kicked up her front hooves. I grasped the reins tightly with my hand and draped myself protectively over the withers. I only thought to follow the Texas Ranger, fast as wind, through the shellfire.

All I remember from that point is that he did not stop. I did not stop. I kicked in my heels, signaling acceleration- the places around us spurred and we kicked up dust. There was no pursuit. Instead, we slowed near a tributary bank, shaded all the while by weeping willows. LaBoeuf was breathing hard. I rode up next to him. There was blood on his hands.

He was speaking very fast"I should have known- those- those people- they- "

I cut in hastily. " Cumberland's gang?"

He shook his head, quite certain, catching his breath.

I asked again."Who was it? Outlaws- Cherokee?"

He winced in pain. I slid off Muse and stepped to him, but he was already falling. I touched him- instantly, his blood was on my hand. Blood.

Not again.

"Settlers- probably-assumed we- we were coming after them, no warning- something- paranoia."

He was speaking in an unintelligible mumble. I steadied him with my weight and the both of us dropped, together, to the ground.

"Mr. LaBoeuf, we must see you to a doctor." I said.

He squinted his eyes against the sky, in pain. "No, it is of no use- it is all in my back, I believe."

I was bewildered by his calmness. If ever I had been grazed in the back by two pistol shells, I may not have known the same serenities. He stood up straight, hobbled to the horse and drew from the bag of supplies that we recovered from the Halliburton estate.

He took a step towards me, then hesitated. "-Are you faint of blood?"

I took one look at him, then at my hand. It was partially covered.

I guessed not.

"Good." He replied, leading me to the bank. He kneeled and began his work.

"Mr. LaBoeuf-" I began.

He tore off the buckskin gloves and coat. I watched him do it with a distinct curiosity. My gaze fell to the water, rippling in little waves, stealing at the shore, then making way back again. Water, thinner than blood. Purer, clearer, in more abundance.

Back, forth. Again, back forth.

"Mattie."

I looked up. "Yes?"

"Fetch that bag, if you are alright."

I shook myself out of my shock, and retreated back to the Appalachian horse, who had stolen away clean. Muse was fine as well, only partially frightened. Her brown hooves picked up in a pace; her body was livid with exertion. I heard a shout from LaBoeuf's direction; I hurried and loosed the bag from the saddle.

I reappeared back at the bank, bag in hand. On instinct, I looked away as LaBoeuf stood, his chest bare. He almost laughed at such modesty, but the attack had shocked us both to silence.

"I have done the worst of it already." He said finally, holding up a small peice of gunshell. I passed him the bag and he withdrew a small needle and bottle of whisky. LaBoeuf kneeled and I followed him.

"Are you sure you are all-right?" He asked.

"I am fine."

He placed the whiskey in my grip. We exchanged glances.

"For your hand."

I bathed my hand in the bitter-smelling liquid. He gave me the needle. I gripped it tightly about my forefinger. I placed it between my teeth as I found a few spools of thread in the sack. Blue, red, black strands.

"Color preference?"

He chuckled. "Standard black."

He turned around, his back to me. I crawled in the riverbank, until I was close enough to reach him. A few small bullets had grazed his side, and one had been lodged in his back. I soaked a cloth in the alcohol, then held it to each wound. I expect it was very painful. LaBoeuf did not so much as flinch.

"You think they were pioneers?" I asked, attempting to take his mind off the pain.

"Yes. Such a thing has- happened before."

"They just- shoot?"

He clarified. "Pioneer motto in Indian country: Shoot first, ask questions later."

I was puzzled by the statement. What a wild world we passed through, where neighbors would shoot neighbors without so much as a sensible thought.

When it was all done, he applied a strip of gauze, steadily placed himself on the horse and led me along, as if nothing of the slight had happened. To this day, I am the only one who know sof that episode, and the injury he sustained from it.

"Thank you." He said clearly, kindly. I nodded. For this moment, I quoted a scripture found in Psalms 27- "The Lord is my strength and my shield, and in Him I do trust." I was not partial to blood. My sudden strength had been an inexplicable miracle.

To explain each day following would be a grueling and worthless feat. We trailed the border, LaBoeuf and I, between Indian land and Arkansas, finally arriving in Mena about a week later. We hunted for the first time on our journey- deer, crossing our gaze. The nights by the fire were long-remembered: stories told back and forth, experiences, sights to see. He had a great deal more than I did, but when I told him about Mount Magazine, the highest point in Arkansas, his eyes alighted, as if he wished to see it personally. He showed me how to wind a rope around your sleeping area as to ward the snakes away, or how to make a swinging bed between two trees- a "hammock". I gutted fish and taught LaBoeuf how to play "The Midnight Caller". I came across twenty cents in a game of cards and spent it on postage in Mena, sending my letter of inclination to Mother. I kissed it, as if such a gesture would see it home safe. LaBoeuf met up with another ranger, an old, wiry man by the name of Duke, who had claimed he had also been on Cumberland's trail, and had caught one of his closest partners. The both of us were very excited in this fact- until the man revealed that Cumberland's associate was on a train to West Texas, to hang for some swindling he did out in Las Cruces.

"I 'spect Cumberland'll be looking to break him out." Duke informed me.

"Cumberland is of much value." LaBouef reminded him.

The Duke gave us word of his intention to see the man hanged. He announced to us that he would be leaving that very afternoon, to embark west and "catch two birds with one stone", metaphorically speaking. He invited us along, having heard of LaBoeuf's makings in Tom Chaney's trial. He had personally known the Bibbs family and had interceded for their large sum cash award. The man did not strike me as upright in all matters of integrity. My Officer told me he was one of the best trackers around and had two suspicious missing wives. I kept my mouth shut from there on out. The Duke looked at me with a strange countenance.

"What business do you have about this place?" He asked.

"Cumberland has sought after my life. He has instigated murder and has disintegrated the safety and peace of my family and home of Near Dardanelle. I will not rest until he is brought to justice for it."

The Duke stared at me for a moment, wide eyed. "I did not understand a word you just said."

LaBouef interceded for me, paraphrasing. "He tried to kill her in Arkansas. She has a seething wrath for him."

The man chuckled, and offered me nothing else. He told LaBouef to meet him at the train station at two o'clock sharp- at that time, they would depart for Las Cruces. Duke excused himself to the tavern. He reminded me vaguely of a very sharp-tongued marshal who hailed in Ft. Smith. LaBouef did not agree with me on such terms. Instead, he tried to shake me off at another boarding house about the way. I informed him that my patience was growing thin.

"My patience is growing thin." I said.

"Is it now, Miss Mattie Ross?"

"Yes it is, Mr. LaBoeuf."

He chortled. "I am beginning to think that you like this sort of chasing business."

"Only when I am in good company."

He smirked at that. When I, again informed him that I would stop at nothing, no shot, no word, no piece or thought or action- until Cumberland was found and my family safe, he gave in. My passion eased him up.

He caught it in my eyes."If you insist. I was only thinking of your nature."

"You are a fool if you have not guessed it."

"You are something." He repeated. I rolled my eyes and tossed my countenance skyward. Men are so often privy to strange minds and irrational ways.

The time came and went and we set off, west. I felt like we had wasted all this time, wandering around Choctaw nation in the way we had, falling across large estates and making fires and playing games and kissing- oh, kissing. The thought brought color to my face- something rare and funny. I did not much care to carry on about it.

I found a seat by the window, and waited for the Officer. He appeared at the front, speaking with Duke, who offered him a shot of whiskey and a pat on the back. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. A train, all the way to Texas. I was short of thrilled. As I squeezed my eyes shut, I saw faces- Mother, Frank- Daggett- I began to feel the dull pangs of being homesick, but over it all, I could feel the boldness and courage I had accumulated pulse through my veins. It was none other than grit, true and true, in want of justice and barely short of foolishness.

"Las Cruces." I thought aloud. "Here we come."


	10. Ten

**10**

The train to Las Cruces took an astonishing four days, most of which were spent looking out of doors and sleeping by the heater during cold desert nights. I was never in want of food or company. LaBoeuf stayed a car behind me, with the other men- I was of only four ladies onboard- there were children and maids, as well, who often took respites in vacant seats and enjoyed my company.

"I am through with this train hostess business, I tell you." One maid said. "All I want is to settle down with a respectable man, in Ft. Worth."

"Nothing is stopping you." I said.

She swatted a fly at her brow."That respectable man is married."

I was unsure of how to respond.

Another maid, one who delivered food to the passengers, also took up words with me. She knew very little English, but she showed me various drawings- an artist.

"Family in Mexico." She said. I nodded and traced my fingers over the charcoal sketches.

"Pretty."

She glowed with pride and walked on her way. The town stopped in Fort Wedington and I was left alone. Occasionally, people would scurry. On, off, on, off. I had the best seat in the car, as far as I was concerned.

We finally reached El Paso, then Las Cruces, due north. Finally, the grand train came to a stop. I stood, only slightly dizzy. I looked back into the other train for LaBoeuf, and, upon not seeing him, disembarked. The artist maid, upon noting my long travel across the "Lone Star State" offered me a handsome spanish shawl. I refused.

The woman insisted. "Take."

"Alright then." I took it and folded it away in my bag. "Much thanks."

She smiled, then saw me off. People are lying when they say that strangers are cruel people. I have met a great many who challenge that statement. I stepped off the train and onto the station, spying the Duke. LaBouef was with him as well, watching for me. A smile crept across his face when our eyes met. I hobbled down the steps, as if my body had encountered a jolt.

Las Cruces was very close to the border between the United States Territory and Old Mexico. If you had not that particular information, you would have supposed to be right in the heart of that romantic land. Out of the station, we walked straight into an open market. The whole ordeal was very colorful. Fruits, vegetables, fabrics and flowers- everything was alive and the language was quick andcandid. I smelt the rich aroma of old world spies from all around- chiles held on strings, beautiful women and dark men- it was something I will not soon forget.

I was so immersed in the sights, LaBouef had to take hold of my hand to keep me moving. The crowd before us cleared and he let go. I watched him converse with the Duke.

If you are wondering about the horses, here is what happened: Muse and the Appalachian were left onboard to be unloaded to a local stable. The whole thing was very organized and fanciful. I had, at one time, told LaBouef that he was not so great just because he was a Texas Ranger- here, this was a different case- he was regarded in the upmost esteem by all, even those who did not understand our English language. We were offered a nice board at a real hotel, and a balcony seat at the horse races. Diego Valdez, a very important railroad businessman, also invited the two officers to a special ball for Cinco De Mayo. The entire thing was a real exotic treat.

At the time, I was not sure what to think of it. With Cumberland lurking near, I was determined to not be misled or side-tracked by talk of parties and hangings. I kept a look out. Mattie Ross was not one to be pitied, nor trifled, nor hoo-rawed.

The hanging was announced to be scheduled for the second of May- I turned to LaBouef.

"I thought today was the eighth."

"As did I." He confessed. "It is a common occurance."

The Duke leaned forward. "It is the thirty-first of April. Get those facts straight."

I was not enchanged by the man. He drank much. Although, he did not throw cornbread at the sky to shoot at it, so he was still less foolish than Cogburn in my book.

I watched the horserace with considerable boredom. AFterwards, the men were invited to drinks at Valdez's estate outside of town. There was talk of the Cinco De Mayo ball all around. The Officers would be attending, but I did not care much for social events.

The day was growing late, so I made my way to the Inn. LaBoeuf called for me.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

I motioned behind me, to the white-washed building. "The Hotel. I am very tired- as it has been a long day."

The man escorted me to the door. "I hope you are not insulted by the festivities."

I shook my head. "Not in the least."

"Are you alright?"  
I looked down to the dusty streets, where men and women spoke. The night air picked up thier words and the spice and smell of horses. I turned to him.

"I am not in a festive mood; that is all."

"You are forlorn."

"Quite from it. I am determined."

He watched me very carefully. "In all honesty, I would not worry much of Cumberland- he is a coward, and I do not expect him to show himself at the hanging."  
I was puzzled. "I thought he said-"

"The man loves conspiracies. But, as of late, I have begun to believe that we may have overestimated him."

"Overestimated him? He killed all those people- tried to kill me! What about the Halliburtons?"

"They were seen in Tulsa last week. They are unharmed."

My mouth flew ajar. "They-escaped?"

"I was under the impression that he had let them go."

"Let them- why? He took all their gold- killed thier servants-"  
He touched my face on impulse. I immediately stiffened. My hand grasped the bar of the porch.

"Are you aware that you worry too much, Miss Ross?"

I let out a thought into the night. "You are letting the humidity and pride cloud your logic."

He stepped back. "I am going to speak with Valdez this very evening. If I hear anything of great importance, I will pass it on to you."

"Do not get yourself killed." I said quickly.

His hand fell to my own and he grasped it and brought it to his lips."You have my word."

I had to lean against the architechure to keep myself upright. THe man walked off, the rouge, to join the other popular men. They dissapeared into the night, the lot of them. Conflicting emotions rose deep in my throat, from information and opinions and news.

I wanted to sort through the grey area. I wanted to know. Was Cumberland truly after me? Or was I merely a passionate rage, stoked quickly and driven out- a forgotten pursuit? The idea that I was all out of fear- that the man may not be after me after all, lifted my spirits in all ways. I realized it! Safe, I was safe! Surely the man would not have let the Halliburtons go if he had not given up on the cause. My mother, sister, Frank- all safe! I was a bit dishevled, but all right. I could return home, knowing Dardanelle was clearly shrouded in grace. Cumberland must not be set on me, after all! I laughed. It was a joyous laugh that rung across the street- such had not happened in quite some time. I thanked the Lord aloud- I shook my hands and shet a tear and stomped my feet- the image of a madwoman. I did not much care.

Safe! Sound!


	11. Eleven

**11**

Diego Valdez's ball was already set up and prepared for an influx of guests. Food by the trayfuls- peppers and rich, seasonal foods- exotic spices and aromas from deep Mexico- fish from the islands, Caribbean bananas and pineapples. There was an abudance of drink as well- wine and whiskey and fruity, bubbly peices that tasted more like sweet water than liquor. The entire town was to attend, and LaBoeuf and the Duke were among Valdez's numerous honored guests. I was very excited to be included, although the enjoyment of parties and drinking and social fancies were typically outside of my sphere. Something about this town had made me so assuredly gleeful. Maybe it was the news- Cumberland was not after us at all, or that the Halliburton's were safe and sound, or that I had found a nickle in my pocket and did not understand how I became of it.

Or perhaps it was all of these things.

In my room at the hotel, I peiced together a pretty dress and tied my dark hair into a festive bun about my head. I A rosebush grew outside my widow, so I plucked a bud and placed it in my hair. I twas very close to perfect.

I did not attend the hanging, like I had previously intended. LaBoeuf and the Duke had scouted the area beforehand. They had talked with the condemned man, who offered them nothing. The hanging was without interuption. It, according to my Officer, went right along splediddly, almost a boring event. As for Cumberland's man, he had little to say and could only offer a bit of information- Cumberland and his gang were in Western Texas, maybe the panhandle- it was not information of a valuable sort. There was not much for us.

We did not worry.

Now I wrapped the Spanish shawl - the particular one that the woman on the train had given me- about my bare shoulders and perchanced outside. The evening was lovely and darkening blue in the east. The Duke and LaBoeuf waited outside, perched on the whitewashed porch. They both brightened upon seeing me- LaBoeuf more so. He was also dressed handsomely- in a spanish style shirt and black breeches over boots.

We made quite a team.

"And I thought you said she would not be seen dead at some festive event." The Duke poked at me. I ignored him, took the Officer's arm, and stepped out to the small carriage Valdez had sent for us.

My mood was incredible. I felt light- airy, free.

I felt that I could dance- almost.

I was not partial to dancing in any forms of the word. But LaBoeuf sensed the sparkle in my eye all the same.

"You seem in lighter mood." He observed, fairly pleased. I remained silent, but smiled and gazed outside. Valdez's estate was beautiful, his house- or "casa" as they called in Mexico- was twice the size of the Halliburton's Oklahoma estate. Oil lamps were lit outside and escorts walked up and down teh pathway.

The true magic was inside. Ladies with fans watched LaBoeuf as he passed by- some people sat at carefully made tables, drinking scotch or tall glasses of wine. Still others were mingling among dozens of little circles. A great merry crowd were on a porched promenade, dancing to an exotic spanish waltz. A row of stringed musicians kept the Carnivale at bay. There must have been four hundred people there that night- some, I learned later, from as far away as California and Monterrey, Mexico. It was grand in all form and fashion. I was very much pleased.

I do not remember all that took place that night. THe Duke told stories under a full moon and a black sea of stars- out toward the vineyards, I saw couples steal away. In the distance, mountains drew up from the desert landscape. They framed the sky- beautiful, marvelous things.

"That is Casa Rojo Mountain." One man said.

The dancing was the most fun to watch. Skilled men and ladies alternated in patterns, pairing up, seperating- forming lines and circles and swirls. They clapped and stomped thier feet and shouted. I had never seen anything like it.

LaBoeuf noticed me watching it and sat beside me. A moment of stillness caught us both and we exchanged looks.

"Have you any wine yet?"

"I thought I made it clear, LaBoeuf- I do not drink."

All the more silence. Some people behind us spoke in muffled spanish, laughing.

"Why do you ask?" I continued.

He laughed. "I would suppose you might join me for a dance. But, as seeing you are in full grasp of sobriety, Miss Ross, I will take my company elsewhere."

I was in mood to suprise him.

Swiftly, I gathered my skirts and stood. He chuckled at the gesture, then took my hand. We stepped onto the floor just as a tango overcame the musicians. He stepped around me in a circle, back and forth, back and forth. He was light of foot and quick to step. This was much to my suprise.

I smiled. "It is nice to dance with you for once, Mr. LaBeouf. I see you are a better dancer than bounty hunter."

He shot it back at me. "You are a much better dancer when sober."

Incorrigable. We spun like mad at the center of the crowd. Around us, everyone clapped and seperated- I was swept up into a circle of ladies. The music was loud despite the many people- I made a few wrong steps, but quickly recovered. We clapped again and seperated- I met another man, who did not much mind that I was one-handed. He twirled me for a moment and we split again. Another man dipped me so my hair nearly touched the floor. Everything was colorful.

Somewhere down the melody, I met LaBoeuf and we did not seperate. A waltz came next, and I clutched him close, for fear that he would be snatched up again. It was slow. I had time to catch my breath.

He looked down on me. "What say you, now?"

I lay my head on the Officer's chest and swayed for a moment, thinking. Thinking.

"Happy." I said finally. "And very much so. Happy."

"Surely it is some misunderstanding."

"No, No. I am very sure."

"Alright."

We stayed in the nature of that dance for some time. I closed my eyes. Even despite my fears, I realized- with LaBoeuf by my side I had felt safe all along. Through the attacks of the pioneers or the horrendous discovery at the Halliburton's, I had never lost grip. The man provided peace to me. I did not truly understand it.

After a moment, LaBoeuf retreated back to the other gentlemen, but I gaily continued, swept up in another 'bailar'. Claps of hands, shouts- I closed my eyes as the crowd paired off, into an unsuspecting partner. This man held me tightly, uncomfortably so.

"Why, Miss Mattie Ross. I reckoned you might be here."

The voice was familiar. I smiled and opened my eyes.

Something gripped me from head to toe and I fell, still.

Cumberland.

I shot my gaze to LaBoeuf. He had left for a moment- no longer in sight. The Duke was crowded around by close-listening fans. My heart lept into my throat. Cumberland gripped me tightly as the festivity continued around us. My smile was shocked off my face.

"That is right, yes, that is right." He snarled. "I have been looking for you for a long time now."

His lips found my ear and he whispered against the joyous music."Do you know how long I've been looking for you, Mattie Ross?"

I shook my head, out of complete and utter shock. Fear set my heart blazing- His nails dug into my shoulders.

A moment passed and my fury rose in a fervor. I found my voice." I have him justified."

"How so?"

I swallowed. "Your father was a drunkard and a coward. And I have ended it. I have no regrets."

I offered it boldly, although I believe he only heard part of it.

"Let us get this straight. You- are- going to die. How this happens and who else goes along with you is entirely your choice. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

He acknowledged it. "Good. Now you- will come with me quickly. And I will not hurt anyone."

"I do not believe you."

"I give my word." He assured me. I gazed around at the crowd of people. My hand bit into a fist. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. Cumberland continued.

"If you attempt to walk away now, or tell anyone of this, I will kill the Officer LaBoeuf in front of you. I will kill him very slowly, very painfully. I will strike down anyone who tries to hinder me."

I imagined LaBoeuf, unsuspecting. It could not happen. I would not risk another's life to preserve my own.

Especially his.

"I will go with you." I said. "But I have one request."

He heard it and reluctantly nodded. I fled from the crowd into the grand mansion, looking all around. I found him by the fountain, speaking with another gentleman, Valdez.

"LaBoeuf." I said breathlessly. He sensed the fear in my eyes, but I masked it. There was no way to escape this fate. Not now, not when it involved others so closely and clearly.

I drew him into an empty space, outside, with desperation.

"What is this about?" He asked, in light spirits. Mine were as lead weights in the ocean.

I could not tell him. He would surely come after me.

He would surely die.

"I- I just wanted to thank you. For everything- for keeping my wellfare, my sanity." The words were far from what I pictured.

Instead, I stepped up to him and hesitated. I kissed him lightly on the mouth. THe gesture grew, until his hands grasped my back and I was leaning into his very countenance. It was a longing kiss. I could taste promise and joy and sadness in it.

I broke it off quickly and tried to hide my tears. I left him there, very alone and somewhat bewildered.

The Duke remained busy, with his stories. I stepped over vines and branches, following Cumberland through the vineyard. Several other men followed me, securing the back.

We walked in this fashion for what felt like forever. The lights of the party dimmed and the music faded away into the unsuspecting night.

I understood now. Although I was to meet my fate, I knew that the others would not suffer directly. My family was, and would remain, safe. LaBoeuf did not suspect a thing- he was safe, at least as safe as someone of his prideful character could be. My life was worth these certainties. We must all pay the consequences of our actions. As I have said before, I will say again- there is nothing free in this world, except the grace of God.

We made it to the base of Mount Casa Rojo. Four other men and a scraggly woman by the name of Beatrice had joined our party- thier eyes were locked on my own. I knew I could not escape. One particularly burly man grabbed a peice of adhesive and stepped towards me.

"I assure you, that will not be necessary." I said.

He placed it over my mouth and prepared rope with which to bind my hands. Upon seeing that I posessesed only one, he shrugged and threw the rope to the wayside. The woman shoved me sharply in the back and I followed the troupe up the mountain to face it.


	12. Twelve

**12**

The night reached a brilliant sort of hue just as we approached the peak of Casa Rojo. It reminded me of the night on Petit Jean, with Papa and Frank- our "coon hunt", so to speak. My memories were fond. I could still hear our laughter, our ghost stories and games. The fire had been bright, and the moon, brighter. What life filled those empty spaces.

Things were different now.

The woman named Beatrice was uncommonly harsh. I assumed she had woken from the wrong side of the bed. Or, judging by her appearance- the ground.

She seemed to read my very thoughts.

"We got ourselves a little Joan of Arc, do we now? So- pretty, and cunning, eh? You think so highly of yourself, do you? And what now?"

I could not speak, for I was gagged and certainly diminished. I looked away, but that did much to stir her nastiness.

She spat upon me.

"You are not a lady!" I attempted to say, but it came out more like this- "Ooh ahh naw un lahday."

She laughed at that and pressed me along. To this day, I do not understand the nature of her cruelty. I have always thought that women were kind to one another- we are a fair sex, and we share many griefs. I thought of Mother for an instant and wondered what she was doing. I thought of Victoria, her new life with Mitchell.

He was a fine man, I decided. I had wrongly judged him. Somewhere, I would have neices and nephews- good, charming people that I would never see. Conversations that would not be had, jokes that would not be exchanged-and love. Love. Words and thoughts flew helplessly to the wayside as a silent future awaited.

I imagined the Mayo Fiesta at Valdez's would not wind down until dawn, according to many spectators. LaBoeuf would not have the sense to come after me. The Duke, I judged, would not much care either way.

I was cold. I clutched the gift shawl around my shoulders closer. They never bound my hand- I had no desire to wander off. I was in great fear for what would happen if I attempted escape. Cumberland led our party, never shifting, never stopping to rest. Now our tread was not as inclined- I knew we were reaching the top. My thoughts turned to the Texas officer again- tobacco, campfires- dancing. Comforting thoughts before a discomforting end.

Was this what it was really like?

I thought of Jesus, on the Mount Of Olives- a favorite Biblical story of Mother's. He prayed all night on that rock, sweating blood. HIs strength was incorruptable. I hoped for this same strength. I wished, more than anything, to face my adversary with dignity.

I would go down with grit.

The man with Cumberland began to talk with him, voicing concerns about the marshals who were near. (I learned much later that this man was none other than Misty Jack, an infamous train robber from Memphis.) He spoke.

"Perhaps we should hold a ransom."

"That is not my design." Cumberland spat.

"We have worked so hard to get to this piont- an extra thousand would sweeten the deal." The man dejected. Cumberland thought for a long moment.

"How would we do it? It is too late- too late."

He was an indecisive man. The burly Mexican to my left chimed in. "Do you think she is worth a cent?"

"There is a marshal- a famed Rooster Cogburn, who will not let the child perish. I reckon he will deal us plently." The man aside Cumberland said.

Cogburn? In the area? It all sounded as speculation to me. I listened intently all the same.

"The girl dies tonight, I will not hold ransom."

"Can you not restrain your blood passion for a day or two?"

Cumberland stopped. He faced the man, upset.

"You are forgetting everything!" He cried aloud. He was much the fool.

The burly Mexican clutched my shouldres greedily. "I have got an idea. We can hold the girl for ransom. When we get what we need, we can dispose of her properly." He poised his hands to my mouth as to remove the gag, but Cumberland and Beatrice motioned otherwise.

"She is a crafty one," Cumberland stated. "Do not let her speak."

I took it as a compliment, although it was not intended as such.

Beatrice stepped in between the two. "It is the man's choice- allow him to decide." She tossed a look to Cumberland. "But do not forget why we are here in the first place."

Cumberland stepped up to me. I had the urge to face the ground, but I fought it hard. He lifted my chin with his palm, then looked into my reluctant eyes.

"What say you, little Mattie Ross?"

His voice was like ice water. I said nothing. I journeyed my eyes to the others, newcomers who had joined our party, a whole lot of scoundrels. I could not see them all. I judged there were at least a dozen.

No grounds for hope. No means of escape. Not now.

Cumberland's smirk faded. "Speak." He comanded. Someone removed my gag from behind me. It was a relief.

"I do not know what I will say to you." I began. "I know what I could say, but I will abstain."

"You hold your tongue, I'll cut it off."

It was a convincing offer. "You have taken me-but I see that you are much indecisive and quite unorganized."

"You speak sharp for someone in your position."

"I have a lawyer in Dardanelle. Once he hears what has gone down, he will come after you with the law."

He shook his head. "Trust me, he will not."

"I would not be so sure."

Cumberland's eyes narrowed. "Here is something you can be sure of, Miss Ross. You will not see the morning. Know that." He turned back to his partner and placed the gag over my mouth.

"The girl goes."

It was invitation enough. Half the crowd dissapeared behind the line of trees, patrolling the area. Cumberland and the others took me up and carried me along, swiftly.

The mountain blunted off and a passing came into view. A wide space, overlooking everything for miles. It was beautiful- miles and miles of life and landcape, all showcased for me in this final act.

* * *

It had all come to fruition as I stood there with them. The men seemed to be transfixed on the scene as well. Cumberland forced me to kneel, and so I did.

Here is what happened next.

He loosed the gag and left me there, attending to the sudden shouts and sounds of horses' hooves. Something emerged from the woods. I could not see what, even in the moonlight. The sounds echoed closer- men shouting. Why were they shouting? I tried to stand, but my dress had been caught between two rocks. I tore it from beneath just in time to see Cumberland starting towards me. I believe the fires of hell were blazing in his eyes as he took me down.

"You- have-caused- me a might of trouble." He growled, retrieving a blade from his pocket. I the look on his face was- horrendously similar- to that of Chaney's. I kicked at him helplessly as he jabbed it towards me-once, twice- each time drawing closer.

Shouts. I saw the lights, I heard the voices.

Help.

I must disagree with those who have swooned at the sight of a drawn gun. I myself, believe a knife is much more terrifying. I had ran with noble and unassuming men- I had learnt to associate guns with these. But the knife- the sharp stab of it, the fatality of it's promise- jaded me.

I was very much afraid.

If only I could hold off until the lights reached me!

"Come back here, you coward! Face us like a man!" A voice shouted out from somewhere in the woods.

Cogburn.

The man paid no attention- I felt coldness about my waist. It was if a sudden chill had overcome me. Cumberland rose the blade to end it- end me!- and I had nothing left. This was, seemingly, my end. Nothing more had been endowed to me. I could picture the Lord calling to me, calling me home- away, off this life, off these chases and schemes and hardships- shocks. I would know no other face. How differently I had pictured my life. What dissapointment!

A second's chance was due to me. It was a splendid blessing, a challenge. In that opportunity, I managed to grasp the black gift shawl and catch Cumberland's blade in it. On instinct, I twisted it from his grip, casting it off a few feet away. I saw the one eyed marshal, I heard the shots- I was uncertain of who had won.

There was talk, but talk was cheap. There were others with Marshal Cogburn- I saw Valdez, mounted on a black horse- and the sherriff, and Alabaster Halliburton.

Truly?

Shots fired and behind me, Cumberland ran. I stood to go after him but found myself too weak to stand. My dress was all soaked and my hands were all red. I could not breathe.

I could not breathe.

Alabaster spotted me and whistled- a man emerged behind the darkness and seized me, pulling me up onto his horse. I was like a limp rag doll.

"Where- where-" I started.

The man was a party guest of Valdez's, one of the violin players. He said something in Choctaw to Alabaster. Both men nodded. The man covered me with a buckskin blanket and stormed us down the mountain, towards the estate.

"No, we must- Cumberland- he- no." I protested.

He motioned for me to keep quiet and rode on. At the base, the burly Mexican and the woman named Beatrice glaredat us. They were held at the marshals' point and were bound.

My eyelids became very heavy as we rode on. Valdez's estate came into view right before I blacked out.

I could feel warm hands- hands of the maids, remove my bloody clothes and wash me across the middle. It stung. I had no strength to protest it. They set me down on the chaise, overlooking the vineyards just as dawn approached.

Morning, glorious morning. I was alive to greet it.

LaBoeuf was not in sight.


	13. Thirteen

**13**

It was all over, someone had said. The remaining few scattered, and the dead stayed still, lying where they fell. LaBoeuf had been out with all the rest of the marshals, chasing the pea of a man Cumberland, all the way across the Sierra Cantades. I was still ripped at the sides, sallow and still. Other than this I was much unharmed.

The Duke immediately sent for the rest of the men at the party, after I had been found to be missing. In brigades they stormed all around. There was a reward on Cumberland now, sent straight from St. Louis for some sort of scheme I forgot about. He was truly wanted now. I am not sure how many died there, in pursuit.

There was no method in the madness.

Despite this, Cumberland had escaped. He had stolen off clean with two other acoomplices- the woman named Beatrice and the Mexican. I never thought i would have seen that face again, LaBoeuf. He picked me up from the waiting rooms as I tried to speak. For the second time in my life, I was weak. It shamed me.

The doctor in Las Cruces patched me up and made a suggestion to LaBoeuf, which he took to heart. He told my officer to find a space of land, to settle it, to lay low until the criminal was found and put to justice. LaBoeuf had insisted upon my safety and commited me to setting things right. We had no reason to believe that Cumberland would be after Mother, but all were convinced that Dardanelle was not the proper place for me.

I was placed on the train and we went on, stopping 100 miles outside of Ft. Worth. LaBoeuf had twenty dollars in his pocket, no more. I do not remember much else.

We bought some lumber at the general store down the way, and headed out to an unclaimed land. The logs made a perfect sized cabin. I hoisted the logs onto the Appalachian, who helped LaBoeuf stake the peices, one by one. I grew stronger as the days went on. The heat of summer was slowly fading into the crispness of fall. It is a beautiful thing to behold.

When it was finished, we were happy. We spent those first few days of fall outside, laying among the prairie grasses.

"Mr. LaBoeuf." I said. "I feel guilty."

He did not move. "Why is that?"

"I have kept you from your work." I started. "Surely, you are tired of me and are in want of a good adventure."

He turned on his side and studied me for a moment.

"You are something." He said.

It was something he said often, almost like a "catch-phrase". I informed him that it did not make much sense. He informed me straightly and stilly, that I, Mattie Ross, was the adventure.

After a moment of stillness, I agreed that he, too, was mine. A great pleasure came from such weak phrases- it was a strong wave that overcame us both.

We were never officially married. It was not something for us- big commotions, vulgar gowns and rings. LaBoeuf explained that there was no one in town to wed us, and the nearest church was eighty-some miles away. I worshipped the Lord out in the stillness of nature, the swaying knee-high grass my only audience. Hymns and prayers. God had provided, through and through. If only I could trust. The pangs from Cumberland's blade faded each day, until they had vanished.

We remained hidden, on the outskirts of a gathering so small there was no name for it.

We made a compact with each other nonetheless. Somewhere, between Victoria's wedding and Cumberland's attack, LaBoeuf had realized it was not much to his advantage to assist me. Yet he continued. I took these occurances as confirmations; We rarely spoke, but we knew each other's eyes. If I had ever written to Mother, I would have informed her that I finally loved at 22 years of age- that I took respite. That Victoria would mock me, dare I to allow it.

It was sweet.

In the night, I took place in my bed and said my nighttime prayers. LaBoeuf was outside, tending to the horses. The door of the small cabin opened and he emerged, shrouded in moonlight. Crickets chirped. It was mid-September, maybe October even. So long, we had been on this journey. Things come upon us, flowing even like leaves in a stream.

Every night, he had retreated to his seperate cot in the corner of the room. I shut my eyes as he removed his boots and jackets. I am not sure why, but my heart raced in my chest. I counted it- one, two, three. Footfalls closed in my direction. My bed creaked and I was no longer alone.

"Good-night, Miss Ross." He said softly. I caught my breath in my throat. A pause. I stammered out a response.

"Good-night, Mr. LaBoeuf."

He moved close to me- I could feel him, in the darkness, stirring. He planted a kiss on my forehead- once, twice- then on each of my flushed cheeks-once, twice- again. He leaned over me and kissed me, tenderly, sweetly- how I remembered it and have always remembered it. He was good- never expecting anything, never demanding.

This time, I kissed him back. It was thrilling- the embrace grew, until it consumed us both- his lips fled to my neck and he kissed me again.

"Oh." I remarked.

The feeling was wild- as if I held back an entire ocean of water throughout my frame. His hands found my body with ease. We were both bare. I knew I loved him, I had known it before, and at this moment- all was very clear.

He was as my husband but more than this- he was my truest friend.

He knew me. Every secret, every fear, every notion and crevice and we were love. I held him close and he did the same. We never wanted to let go, and when we finally did, we were jealous for ourselves, still in need, in want.

We fell asleep, there, entangled- a mess, a web of life and times and adventures.

Winter passed on over our plot. We had stocked away the crops for winter, had those, and replanted come spring. I was in expectation for a child when the next summer came- I grew very large about the middle. It was a strange thing to behold, although I never compromised my independence. LaBoeuf tended to me with much care. I could no longer ride horses, or be of help to him out of doors.

One day in June, I cried out suddenly- it was a very harsh pain, deep inside. It passed quickly. I was alerted. I was wanton with each movement. It was if my wildest dreams had finally reached fuition. All at once I was everything I dreamed. More than this, I was content. I had a peice of land, of home and wide-stretching sky- a loving man, and soon- a family. One of my very own.

At night, LaBoeuf would stir a fire outside and we would sit and talk beneath the moon and stars. It was all lawyer nonsense- latin phrases and the like. We would recall all our stories- starting firstly with my revenge on Tom Chaney- the first time he had seen me, out there on the porch. I had been a headstrong child and he an arrogant Texan.

"Not much has changed." I replied smartly.

The highlights of each visit, the fighting movements where we feared our very lives. We agreed on the revisions for bedtime stories for the baby.

I looked over to him from the grass. "I do believe it is a boy, LaBoeuf."

"I must disagree there."

I begged him elaborate.

"Well, you have agreed with me that you like pink best. Such was not always the case. And you are more tender to the touch- and your hair has lightened. These are all signs."

"You sound like an old proctor's wife." I said. "I am to be the child's mother- and I do believe it is a boy. One hundred percent. And he will have your hair and my eyes and we will name him Ezekiel."

He took me up on the bet. We shook hands.

In September, my pains began and LaBoeuf rode to town to fetch a doctor. I stayed in the cabin, alone.

I was in great pain, but child birth is not as painful as most make it out to be. I hardly screamed.

To ease the pain, I was thinking of our boy- Ezekiel. Ezekiel, with fiery auburn hair and a cowlick, and dark eyes- my dark eyes. My scissor-sharp wit. His Father's pride, perhaps- or kindess. We would see.

I thought again of LaBoeuf when day broke over the prarie. He was the most loving- but he had grown weary. I knew he missed the "chasing business." He had hidden many letters, all sent from the Rangers. They begged him to return to service. They sounded so very desperate. I knew I was depriving him.

It made me nauseous.

The doctor and his wife arrived and I pushed. The child was stubborn- I pushed again. Again. The day dragged on, long and cool. Perspiration accumulated at my forehead. I was not a pretty sight.

I could detect something in the Doctor's face. He was a beared man with spectacles. His wife was considerably younger. She held my hand and sang to me. Both looked troubled.

After one long push that ached me from all sides, the child emerged.

I had been right. He was a boy, perfectly silent, still, with tuffs of auburn hair and fisted hands. He was beautiful.

The Doctor could not expain what had happened. I was overcome with grief.

We set him in the ground that September, my hopes- my Ezekiel. For the third time in my life, I felt very weak and my hands trembled. LaBoeuf tried to soothe me, but this was to no avail. I could not sleep.

The child was dead. Our child was dead. We named him Ezekiel, our son, and tried to see a purpose in it all.

* * *

Another winter passed and there was no word of Cumberland, although I did recieve a letter from Mother, or moreover, Victoria. Mother was ill, and Frank was now married with children. She needed to be cared for. LaBoeuf suspected that Cumberland may have been caught in Mexico- it all remained a mystery.

I thought again and again on the times of my youth.

The man was smoking a pipe when I crossed the threshold with the letter. i read it aloud to LaBoeuf. He thought for a moment.

"What will you do?" He asked.

I paused. "I must look after her. She is ill."

"I will go with you then."

I glanced up at him. There were tears in my eyes. In seconds, I flocked to him. I kissed him, a kiss of love and loss and passion and exhaustion, all in one fail swoop. We packed up the horses and everything and placed it in trunks and rode to the station. The trains were different- they were strange looking, mangled machines with locks to keep passengers in and bank robbers out. The world had changed considerably. It was because my Officer was not out hunting out the bad and scouting away the evil in the world. All was grey.

We took our tickets and loaded the stuff- all our lives- into that fateful train. LaBoeuf set me down and walked back to the station, to see the Appalachian on the train. I looked outside, where steam met the other passengers. A bell rang and everyone filed in. LaBoeuf stood in a line outside the office.

My Officer.

I smiled, but it quickly faded. I thought of the letters- of his thirst for adventure, his pain. His last three years had been based upon my welfare- my safety. He had rejected his own.

No more.

LaBoeuf stepped into the office. I whisked through the crowd, towards the gate. In one swoop, I locked us in behind the bars. The conductor at the station gave me a funny look, but shrugged it off. The key was not available to unlock us until the next station: Texarkana. Halfway home.

In moments, LaBoeuf emerged to find me locked into the passenger car. The train whistle blew, marking ascent.

"Mattie- it is locked." He looked over to the conductor. The man did not have keys to the lock, and he shook his head.

"I am not going to let you do this." I said. He was puzzled.

"What are you speaking of?"

"You are not coming with me, LaBoeuf. I will see to my own."

He laughed at that- a frightened, desperate laugh- until he saw that I was very serious.

"I don't understand-"

The train whistle blew again. There were bars of iron between us, and not much time. A man asked LaBoeuf to step off the train. He refused.

"This is not the life you wanted." I said. "It is your duty to go back to El Paso, to protect people. To be a texas Ranger- again."

He gripped the bars. "My life- is wherever you are. i will not set you alone, Mattie Ross."

"You have before."

"When your life was compromised!" He rattled the things, but to no avail. The man asked him again, more firmly, to step off the platform. Tears flooded my eyes.

"Go, LaBoeuf. Go."

He shook his head. "I will not leave you."

"It is your duty."

"To hell with duty!" He cried out. "Please- you"

I reached through the bars with my one hand and held his face. So many thoughts.

"Mr. LaBoeuf. I want to thank you for all things. For saving me once too many times."

"No." He said softly, bitterly.

"For putting up with my witty lines, for teaching me how to dance and ride and be hospitable. For looking after me-"

He continued to shake his head. The man behind him seized him.

"When no one did. For loving me. For being my best friend."

He broke from the man's grip and kissed me through the bars. Our fingers intertwined- the train whistle blew, one final time, and we broke. I let him go.

* * *

A quarter century is a long time. I returned to mother, looking after her. I was not bitter. Years passed. I told no one of what had conspired out in New Mexico territory- or in Mena, or near Ft. Worth with my Officer. I never had much patience for marriage, I had said. I thought more and more on our adventures- I revisited Cogburn. Upon having nothing else to do, took a fancy to writing and began to chronicle my fascinating tale page by page.

The man LaBoeuf wrote me letters, to which I did not reply. I could not bear the pain of remembering him. When R. Cogburn died, I had him moved to our plot and took to writing again. I wrote back to LaBoeuf. I had not seen him since- but I heard he took to Rangering again, helping my people and wearing even more frivolous garb.

As for the Halliburtons, they settled in Mena, Arkansas, and began trading cotton. To this day they are at it. Tia's daughter, Harem, wrote to me also. She became a very prominent lady with riches and a family.

Time just gets away from us. I do not suspect LaBoeuf ever forgave me for my "locking-out" incident. I never forgave him for that drunken kiss. I assume that we are even.

He is in his seventies now- nearer seventy than eighty. I do suspect some day I may hear from him.

Time just gets away from us. God gives us chances- in seconds, seasons- lifetimes.

Mine was interesting to say the least, and very, very much worth all.

***

* * *

_Wow! This has been quite a journey. I greatly loved the True Grit novel and Movie Adaptation. I felt the gap between Mattie's life after her snakebite and the time she was an old woman- and I thought it needed to be elaborated on. So I made sure to stay candid with the story. The book does not necessarily end happily, and thus I did not end this fanfiction necessarily happily. The most important thing, I believe- is to keep the characters "in character" at any cost, even if it means LaBoeuf and Mattie do not end up happily ever after. I love both the characters, and I love the book and I wanted to keep it so that it stayed consistent with the novel and film. I feel it is better if it was this way. I hope you have enjoyed it. Thank you for always reading, always encouraging, always reviewing. It means more than you know. _

_SONG THAT INSPIRED THIS FANFICTION: "Fever Dream" by Iron & Wine- Listen to it and it will all make sense!_

_Thanks again to friends and family, who were, unknowingly, inspirations for certain characters and dialogue lines. hehe. _

_Thanks to for the great music that inspired- what I believe- to be my best fanfiction yet. Iron and Wine, Priscilla Ahn, Brooke Waggoner, Bree Sharp- Good stuff! _

_Thanks to my Savior, Jesus Christ- for giving me such a love and passion for writing. I truly had a blast writing this story and am joyful that I can express the stories in my head somewhat eloquently. _

_Thanks again to YOU- my reviewers! Thank you thank you thank you!_

_Here ends "A Second's Chance". It was a wild, amazing ride. _

_-Joanna L'Aurel_


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